Snow Bunny, a Heavy Confession
The snow had fallen and we were yet again underway to an incredible winter. Like any other child in his early teens, I loved sledding. Even at this age, I was larger than normal; a “Boy of Bulk,” if you will. It wasn’t until years later that I discovered why I outlasted my skinny friends in the cold outdoors. Insulation.
My two brothers and I used to shred the hills by our house. And by “shred,” I mean build jumps, race and take part in full contact demolition derby down the slope. It was early afternoon and I headed outside by myself to get some alone time; you know, laying face down, eating a crater of snow around your head.
I had taken with me my new favorite gift from Christmas — a snowboard. You see, my brothers and I could flat out fly down the hill in our sleds. We’d pack in two or three of us on a sled and by the time our weight caught speed, we were scorching that snow. I figured it was no different on a snowboard and since I was fairly athletic, it shouldn’t be a problem. I was wrong.
I perched my snowboard on top of the hill and prepped for what was sure to be an amazing ride down the hill and into infamy as not only a handsome young man, but super cool, too. I probably announced myself to the crowd around me or beat-boxed some bad form of entrance music, I’m not sure. (By the way, I can’t beat-box, but I can spit and mumble with the best of them).
My back foot at the rear, I leaned forward and the board quickly took off down the hill. This was a perfect setting, as we had packed down the snow yesterday and the fresh morning made it ideal.
I was flying, or at least felt like it. I could feel the wind in my face and I was loving it. I started to waiver on my board and panic started to kick in. Before I could react, that’s when it happened. The next thing I knew, I was flying backward and my feet were up in the air. It was like I was in slow motion. This was bad, and I knew it. I hit with a thud and my head whipped down onto the ground in a crash. The sky was beautiful and I’m pretty sure I blacked out. I’m not sure for how long, but I just laid there. In the snow. Staring at the sky. I was in part delirium and part prayer as I was thankful to be alive. I vowed to never ride it again … or at least until my brothers did it.
Guys of Girth: It was in that moment, that I realized boys, men, women, animals of my size weren’t meant to be snowboarders, regardless of the age. The cool hair, fancy clothes and adoring fans would have to flock to us in a different realm than snowboarding or any other Winter X Games. Aside from the potential injuries and general distaste of larger snow gear, the nicknames alone are enough to drive us away. You see, the nicknames of “Flying Tomato,” “Atcha Boi,” “The Bird Man,” “Suave” and “Sunshine Unicorn” are much more marketable than “Flying Squash,” “Big Boi,” “The Albatross Man,” “Shamu,” and “Muffin Top.”
People of Less Girth: It’s no secret my Brothers of Bulk don’t like to fall, especially in ice and snow. So, the next time you ask your big friend to go on a ski trip with you, don’t be offended when he politely declines. And if he does go with you, don’t be surprised if he lounges by the ski lodge watching everyone else fall. He’ll be plenty happy smashing Dunkin Donuts doused in hot chocolate while roasting s’mores by the fire … in a tee shirt, of course, as it’ll be too hot for him.
