good times in the bad times

I was under the impression that sleeping was an option, but the way the force of my eyelids raped my freedom of choice I might have to recast my vote. In a way, I fell asleep yesterday while still moving. I boarded down Strawberry Park on my morning run, feeling a bit loopy over each bump. Trudging on in fervent reminder that this would be my only glorious escape for the day from my toasty lift shack, I hurled myself through each curve and launched over every roller. Ride fast, take chances I was told.

Somewhere down the mountain the bearings in my brain broke loose and sparks of imbalanced chemicals began to freely fly throughout the cage of my head. Like a narcoleptic, I must have uncontrollably lost consciousness and plumeted to the ground, because I awoke to a bodily position that insinuated I should still be moving. Except only now, I was laying on my side, ear full of snow, arms twisted behind my back...obviously not in attempt to break the fall, snowboard still strapped to my feet, plus an oxygen mask strapped to my face. And, notably, accompanied by a handful of cute ski patrolers taking my pulse. Now, if this were the view I could awake to everytime I come to, I'd trade in the embarassment of being tagged a 'random fainter' for the eye candy. But, whatever.