Introduction

It all seemed perfect. Too perfect. We were on our annual trip to New Zealand to "kick off" our winter season. We go every year over Labor Day week to take advantage of the spring snow and our holiday (read: only take four instead of five vacation days). This was the first year that we were to have friends there at the same time. Yay! More people to ski with!

This was also going to be the first time on real ski equipment for Campbell. Got a great end-of-season deal on some 70cm skis with bindings and some tiny boots. The kid is obsessed with Warren Miller flicks and completely wore out his plastic skis at Mammoth last season. It was time for some real equipment. We were looking forward to teaching him in NZ.

We had also decided that we'd do a day heli-skiing with Alpine Heli-Ski - the same company we heli-skied with back in 2005 (on our honeymoon) where Mike so gracefully broke his leg on our second of six runs, didn't tell anyone and completed the evening's pub crawl limping up the stairs in pain. We spent a portion of our honeymoon at the hospital in Invercargill as he recovered from surgery. Surely, lightning couldn't strike twice.


It was a nice spring day. Some high clouds, but the light wasn't too flat. The helicopter whisked us to our first run - a little crusty at the top, but nice and soft after the start. We were having a ball. Got up to the top for the second run. I started a bit to the side of the crew and dropped in for another nice run. Again, bit crusty, but it softened up as we descended into the bowl. With so much space to cover, we each took our own lines. I remember thinking how great it felt at that moment.

Then, I glanced ahead and noticed I was coming up on what looked to be some sort of a crevace. I don't know where my mind was, because all I could think was "Jon Krakaur, Mt. Everest, holy crap, I'm going to fall and die" type of crevace. (Oh, and it so wasn't!) I turned to the right. Hard. Right. Pop. Down. Shhhhhhhhh**************!!!!!! And all of the other expletives that I'd rather not write here.

(Thanks Sallyanne for documenting my crash on film!)



I've always heard that when you pop your knee, it's done. I think the anticipation is what freaked me out the most. After the initial pop, it didn't really hurt. And I thought that I could probably make it down the hill - and certainly, four more runs. But that sound, the pop, it just stayed with me. It's like nails on a chalkboard. And mentally, I couldn't do it.






So - I got an extra special ride in a helicopter to Queenstown Hospital. Mike wanted to come with me. Oh hell no. He still had four more runs and dammit, he's finishing out the day.

I was diagnosed with a torn LCL, given some panadol and some crutches and off I went. The doctor said that I should be feeling better in a week, and it'll be healed in two. I really couldn't bend it or straighten it. But figured that was part of the healing.

By the time I got home, I still couldn't bend or straighten my knee. It hurt. Bad. So I went to see my doctor. He drained some of the fluid and diagnosed ... torn ACL and probably some meniscus damage as well. Wow. Didn't think I'd ever hear that one. He ordered an MRI, orthopedic consult and physical therapy. I'm going to save all the diagnosis health insurance drama for another post. Let's just say, it took a while to get all of that done. Too long for someone as impatient as me.

But here I am. Twelve hours away from my surgery. It's going to be nice to be able to walk again (eventually). It's going to be nice to run again (eventually). And it's going to be nice to ski again (hopefully by the end of the season).

Did we end up teaching Campbell? Of course! Knee injury notwithstanding, I did help Campbell ski on his new equipment during the trip, even if I was hobbling next to the magic carpet with the camera.



PS - Four years ago we took this photo.


In 2009, it was my turn.