When I was little, my mother was the leader of a Girl Scout troop. Every year between Christmas and New Year’s, she would rent out a Girl Scout lodge, and all the girls would go play in the snow in the woods and have all kinds of fun. We would play sardines and Risk, but my favorite part was the sledding. There was a giant hill near the lodge, and we would all tromp up to it and go sledding.
It was the best. The hill was long, steep and smooth with a ring of bushes at the bottom. No one ever made it all the way to the bushes. But it was nice that if you did make it that far, there wasn’t a cliff or a road waiting for you.
When I was probably about four, I wanted to go sledding with the big kids. I was too little to go down the hill by myself, so one of the older girls offered to take me down with her.
I was pumped! This was going to be the best thing ever!! Go me!!!
Me and the big kid got on the sled, and the group shoved us down the hill! We went so fast! The fastest anyone had gone ever! Nothing could stop us!
Except the bushes.
We ran straight into the bushes.
I remember closing my eyes. And that’s about it.
According to my mother, everyone came running down the hill screaming for us, thinking we were both dead. And I toddled out, barely mobile in my snow suit, missing one mitten, one boot, and screaming “Again! I want to go again!” Until I realized my foot was cold and had a nervous breakdown and had to be taken inside to warm up.
But still, not bad for a first sledding adventure.