the tragedy of an amateur snowboarder, part 1

Well, it's been over a month since the bone-shattering event that interrupted my tidy little life plans, and I've been told that it's time to tell the tale. A certain friend has said on multiple occasions that anything is worth a good blog story. We shall see. To begin, a little background information:

When I started travel nursing back in October, the first job I got was in Colorado. I was a little nervous about spending the winter in the midst of so much snow and ice, but was excited to learn how to snowboard. During my childhood in Texas, the closest thing to snow sports I ever experienced was to "sled" down Grandma's wheelchair ramp after a night of freezing rain. My family stopped taking ski trips to Colorado when I was 2, and I always wished that I had learned how to ski. We did, however, spend almost every summer at some lake or another tubing and water skiing, so I really wasn't that deprived. When I was 16 I switched from water skiing to wakeboarding and never went back. I never was spectacular on a wakeboard, but I could do it well enough to have a good time. Since I enjoyed it so much more than water skiing, I figured I'd feel the same way about snowboarding and snow skiing. So, when I headed out to Eldora ski resort in Colorado last December, I decided to take the snowboarding class. I learned how to get down the green slopes without killing myself, and over the next 2 months went out every week or so. The first time I tried a blue slope, I sprained my wrist. That was a big red flag I should have paid more attention to. But no, I just took some ibuprofen, slapped on a wrist splint and kept trying. By the end of my Colorado assignment I could spend a day on the slopes, have a good time, and walk away without being covered in bruises. Satisfied with my first traveling experience, I got ready for my next assignment in Reno, Nevada.

to be continued...