Fun Hurts, or "Dude, I'm gonna surf it down"
This picture was taken in a moment of incredible physical pain.
In keeping with my habit of doing things because I feel I should be doing them [as opposed to wanting to], I decided to go out sledding yesterday with Jeremy.
Most of what little snow we received over the past few days has now been frozen over by a good 3cm layer of solid ice, and this should have been our first clue. Our "sled" was a flimsy styrofoam slick-bottomed shelf of sorts, and enabled us to run run run to the crest of the hill and then pile on in a fashion far more graceless than those Jamaicans in "Cool Runnings". I had envisioned swift soft rides a la a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, but the noise of a 2-person person-shelf scraping down an icy slope at 35mph is in fact terrifying, like 100 jetplanes underneath you except they shoot out freezing pebbles of ice instead of dazzling flames.
We eventually moved on to the much larger hill at the local country club, which we figured would allow us to elaborate on our "run and pile" repertoire of riding styles. After numerous test runs we managing to perfect the "laying backwards", "sitting backwards", and "whooping like a jackass while pretending to steer" styles. The one we never quite achieved was the "dogsled homo race" which involed standing upright on the back of the sled hanging onto Jeremy's shoulder-length hair. Every attempt ended in disaster, much to the chagrin of the other grown men who had brought their children sledding that day and were afraid of the influence of our words and actions.
I am moving from right to left here. Always, always wear gloves.