That annual post in which I talk about snowboarding

Today was my first day of the season to hit the slopes. Normally I am out there much earlier, but all of December I was so sick and weak I could not even fathom exerting any physical effort beyond what was needed for daily life.

For some reason on the drive up this morning I didn't feel as enthusiastic as I have in years past. Perhaps it has something to do with my husband's broken foot incident at the end of last season, or maybe it's the fact that with each passing year, falling hurts just a little bit more. But I made myself get out there anyway. I like to believe that if I continue to strap a board onto my feet and slide down a hill every winter, there's no way I could possibly become old.

As usual, once I was out there, I remembered why I really do it. Pure, old-fashioned adrenaline.

Aside from occasionally almost running into other cars, snowboarding is pretty much it for me in terms of physical risk-taking and adventure. Normally I don't embrace fear. I don't even like watching scary movies. But I think it's healthy once in a while to push myself a bit, both mentally and physically.

Since my second or third year of snowboarding, I have never gotten any better. I start out shaky the first few times down, then I start to get a feel for it, having fun and going a little faster, and by the end of the season maybe I've tried a few teeny tiny jumps (which always feel ginormous.)

I'm okay with that. I'm not planning to participate in the Winter X Games. I'm just glad to have a hobby that makes me feel good mentally, and with the help of some ibuprofen, pretty soon I'll feel better physically, too.