Amber and I were riding up the chairlift together. Chair 11, The Reut. This season, we had both taken a women’s clinic from the EK program, twice. “I feel like it’s given me this new found confidence that I have never had before,” we agreed on this points with smiles and nods under our helmets, goggles, gloves, thick jackets, and snow pants. Slightly facing each other, Amber being regular and on the left side of the chair, and I being goofy, and on the right side of the chair.

“What run do you want to do?” she asked, indecisively.
“Hmmm, how about we cruise through the trees on lookers left, then hit the open black diamond on the right we did with the clinics? I’ve had a lot of fun through those trees lately,” I propose, looking for a small break from the high adrenaline day, but also still riding high on snowboard bliss.
“Sweet. Let’s do it.”

We roll down the snow ramp, off the chair lift, curving to the left, and pull over to the side to strap in. I slide my black and grey Ride boots, which I have owned since I was 16 as well, and tighten up my red and black Flow bindings.

“Ready?” I ask with an excited grin.
“Yup! You lead the way!” she tells me.
“Cool. Let’s go!”

Moving slow down the cat track, on my 54” board, that has gouges and needs a wax, I quickly dip into the trees, off the track to the left, taking another path some boarders have carved through the day. Picking up a bit of speed, and enjoy a few slight hip movements, a big bushy branch is ahead, causing me to bend my knees low, and duck right under.

BAM!

My head is thrown back and I am thrown flat on my back, as if in a movie and a heavy weight boxing champ has just punched me straight in the nose, when I am not looking.

What the fuck just happened?

I am lost as to what object, being, or force of nature has forced me to lay on the snow.

“What happened? What’s going on? I am not okay. I am not okay. What is happening?” I mumbled as streams of tears expel from my eyes, unsure if they are being caused by pain or confusion.

Amber pulls up behind me, and gets on her knees next to me, still strapped in. Both her hands cradle my face, one on each side, her fingers gently touching the outer edge of my helmet, and her thumbs resting on my red hot cheeks. Her goggles are off, and her brown eyes sear deep into mine. Her nose, her lips, her teeth, her eyebrows, are all right there in front of me.

“You are okay, Natasha. You are okay” she tells like these words are factual and I must be convinced of their truth. “I see a little blood so I am going to take a look at it, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” my voice trembling at the different rhythm than my body.

She peels off my goggles gently, and slowly, revealing a site that I will only later see and understand the severity. “Okay, so you are bleeding, and have some bruising. You need to go to the clinic. I am going to call Ski Patrol.”
By this point, my heart rate and breathing has slowed down, and general comprehension of what has occurred is becoming more clear. I hit a tree branch. After Amber is done with her quick examination, I tilt my head upwards, grimacing with pain, and see the culprit.

“Holy fuck. That is what I hit?” I ask rhetorically. “Holy shit that is one gnarly branch. No wonder I feel so fucked up right now.”

This branch was not the one I ducked under. It was not low hanging, with fluffy needles splayed all around like spirit fingers. No. Rather, it was one thick branch, jetting out, directly behind Mr. Fluffy Branch, with three thick, short, sharp prongs at the end of it.

“I think I am okay. I mean, I think I can snowboard down to the clinic,” I state with full confidence that Ski Patrol is not necessary to come pick me up and put me in a gurney.
“Are you sure?” Amber asks me sincerely.
“Yes. Yeah I am. We’ll go as slow as possible, and I will stay on my heel side the entire time,” I respond confidently, with a plan.
“Okay. I will stay nearby the entire way down.”

Strapping back in, we slowly rolled out of the trees, first. As promised, I was acted as a falling leaf, all the way down, with only a slight angle towards the bottom of the hill, gliding to the left, left foot forward, and then modifying my angle slightly to glide right, right foot forward, little by little making progress towards the clinic, which is almost directly at the bottom of this run. More than half way down the run, I see something in the snow, and welcome an excuse to stop. Slowing, then coming to a stop, leaning back slowly to my butt, I look back just above me on the hill, and reach. What! A ten dollar bill! You have got to be kidding me! This is legitimately a joke.

Yes, and then I found ten dollars.

Walking into the clinic, exhaustion, pain, tears, laughter, embarrassment, and anger all swirl around me and exude from my face and body. Finally taking my helmet off and goggles off together, I reveal the full view of what that trident tree branch did to me. My right eye was black and swollen, with a few bleeding cuts. Right at the bottom of my forehead, in between my eyebrows, a thick deep gauge was bleeding, just above a cut on my nose. My helmet was also dented. Blood was stained on the foam of my goggles. I cried. I laughed. I was invited to go to the restroom and clean my face a bit. I was told I would need stitches. Then, I realized it was my boyfriend’s birthday. I cried more. I laughed more. I contemplated whether I, or Amber, should call him and tell him what happened and where I was. He was working about 200 meters away, in The Village. I could not bring myself to break the news to him just yet.
Guess I will not be cooking him that big yummy birthday dinner I had planned. Happy Birthday! Here is your Quasi Moto girlfriend.

The doctor examined me and did my stitches, what felt like pretty quickly. Eventually I was given the opportunity to ask questions right before I left.

“Am I going to have headaches? Am I okay to go back to work? What should I be expecting? What are signs that I should watch out for? I have never had an injury like this before so I just have no idea what to expect and what is going to happen,” I state honestly and with intrigued, but also with a heavy set of worry and concern.
“Since you did not pass out, and your behavior was not modified after the collision, you likely do not have a concussion. You may have a concussion, but given yours and your friend’s report of the event, you likely do not. I should not even be talking about it,” the doctor explained. “You may get headaches, but just lie down for a bit. You can go back to work on Tuesday, no problem. Limit your screen time – spend less time on your phone. You might be sensitive to lights.”
“Okay. That’s it?”
“You will come back here on Friday to get your stitches out.”
“Okay. Wow. Thank you,” I respond, a little shocked that given the severity of the collision, the stitches the dents, the black eye, and all, that I can go back to work on Tuesday. It was Sunday.

Limit screen time? What exactly does that mean if I can go back to work? How much? Just lie down if my head hurts? Okay, that is easy enough. Oh man, time to go lie down now. I am exhausted.

With a bandage over my stitches on my forehead, another across the bridge of my nose, and another just above my eyebrow, I pull my blue and grey patterned Buff over my head, and down lower than I would wear my beanie, attempting to hide all the bandages, bruises and scrapes, as we exit the doors, back into the snow, to retrieve our boards. We decide to walk through The Village, on the way to the shuttle stop, to break the news to my partner, on his birthday. Surprise!