By the divine providence of Mother Earth, I've never been hit by a truck. But I imagine it feels a lot like how I felt this morning, after spending a weekend on the icy hills of a Ski Resort.
And no, I don't know how to ski or snowboard. But as a dancer I do know a lot about falling down and getting back up.
I spent most of my snowboarding time on the hill, literally with my booty sliding down the ice. Being locked into a snowboard is a great way to remind yourself that you once had knees and ankles, and that you should probably buy them a drink every now and then out of appreciation. After alternating crabwalking and faceplanting my way down the intermediate hill, I took an "EFF THIS I GIVE UP" break and traded my board in for skis.
Skiing is far simpler than boarding, mostly because you are able to comfortably and naturally face your impending death head on. The whole "French Fries to go fast" and "Pizza slice to slow down" did little more than to make me hungry.
The Clif protein bars I carried in my unzipped pocket went flying all across the snow as soon as I got off my first ski lift and somehow managed to crash into a completely flat surface. And the four girl pileup I caused was a remarkable sight to see. Three of them were laughing because it was ridiculous and funny, and one was genuinely upset and making stank faces at me because she just realized, in that moment, that all her relationships are fake.
By the end of the day, I was shooting down the intermediate hill. Not because I was good or whatever, but because I had no control over my speed or direction, and "down" was the easiest way to go.