Helmet Head

It's official; I'm old and lame (but well protected with toasty ears!).

It seems like just yesterday....those good ole days when life and limb were of no particular consequence. When hurtling down an ice-covered, tree speckled mountain at 40mph seemed like a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon. And riding rusty, vomit-inducing carnival rides with ill-fitting "safety" latches was considered drunk sport.

But I have crossed the chasm of reckless, indestructible youth and am now resting awkwardly (and with slight lower back pain I might add) in the uncomfortable reality of early 30ish health and safety consciousness.

Yea, you guessed it. I bought a snowboarding helmet.

Now I wouldn't be caught dead Mtn. biking without a helmet. Nor would I touch a dirt bike or quad without 4 inches of foam surrounding my head. But for some reason, snow sports didn't seem to apply to these laws of logic.

Snow is soft right? Well maybe not California snow... but surely it’s softer than say... rocks or asphalt? And trees? Well, you just AVOID those. That was my mantra for 21 years of avid snow sportin'... until this year.

This year I turned 31, and although 30 is supposed to be the new 20, my back doesn't feel a day younger than 43 1/2 (probably something to do with missing "lift with the legs" day at back school). Despite the back thingy though, I probably would have fooled myself into "winging it" one more year if it wasn't for an ill-conceived trip to the local Carnival.

I used to think carnivals were amusing; a good time after "having a laugh," a fun destination to take a date or an opportune place to meet high school girls (WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL TOO OF COURSE!). So when Jabari, my little brother I'm matched up with in the Big Brothers of Austin program, suggested we go to the rodeo and carnival a few weeks back, I was totally game.

Then the horror show began:

Mistake #1: I bought unlimited ride wristbands for us
Mistake #2: I ate a greasy sausage sandwich with extra onions and mustard as soon as we entered the carnival.
Mistake #3: I bragged to Jabari that I could “outride him any day of the week” and that he could “hang out in the kiddy playland if couldn’t handle the big boy stuff with me”. Umm yea. This was a stupid thing to say to a fearless 13 year old with an iron stomach and something to prove.

Needless to say, I ended the evening with a throbbing headache, weird crackling noises in my inner ears, double-vision and a nauseous gurgling stomach slowly eating away my GE junction with heartburn.

I even faintly remember a particularly bratty little preteen girl exclaim: “Oh my god, that old guy is about to barf all over the place” while I was upside down on some “Vomitron 2000” ride.

This was my wakeup call that I was neither
a)indestructible nor
b)immune to pain as I previously thought

So before my Mammoth trip last weekend, I walked into Sport Chalet, head lowered in shame and ridicule, and purchased a large, gray snowboarding helmet that when worn, made my head look like a primer-coated watermelon (with air vents) capable of receiving deep space radio transmissions.

I was beat.

But funny how these things work out in ones favor. Not only did the soft, velvety ear flaps keep my ears toasty warm in the blizzard conditions on the mountain, but I crashed (and whacked my head good n’ hard) not once but TWICE!

What forsight I thought through the fuzzy, pre-concussion haze of the second spectacular collision of my head to the icy landing of the jump I just attempted.

I think its time for some hot cocoa.