Why is it that I want to start off so many of my posts with "When I was younger"? I suppose it's because I'm at a point in life where more time is behind me than ahead of me, which begs the question - who's bright idea was it to start keeping track of time? It seems we now have far too many devices reminding us of the sometimes slow, but more often than not the rapid slipping away of time. There's the simple clock, then there's the stop watch, the GPS counts down to a destination, and the treadmill counts down the time to the end of a work out. I imagine some cave man way back when came up with the concept, I'm not really sure. All of these thoughts were running through my mind last night as I made my home from a truncated ski trip in Vermont. After some initial hesitation and upon resolving some "leaving work for 3 days in a row guilt issues", we left for Stowe Mountain Lodge mid-day on Saturday, about a 6 hour drive. Sunday morning we were up bright and early and ready to ski on what looked like an absolutely perfect day. As the gondola took us closer to the top of our first run, I sensed that Dave was getting a little tense from the height and from the comments being made by the other occupants of the gondola. The first picture is of Dave in the Gondola with the mountain in the background. When we got to the top the views were spectacular, and the conditions were perfect. I guess I didn't pick up on it, but I guess Dave was a little nervous about the trip down, a feeling I remember from younger days (about 25 years ago) when I first tackled Mansfield mountain with a group of co-workers from ComputerLand. Dave started off snowplowing, which was smart, which seemed like a good way to ease into the slope. As his confidence increased, his speed picked up, and quick as a flash he rolled and tumbled somewhat unceremoniously into a jumble of skis and poles. I really didn't think it was a bad fall, and encouraged him to get up, but it quickly became apparent that he had injured himself. After getting him out of harm's way, I made my way to the ski patrol to get him brought down the last 100 feet or so for an evaluation. After a preliminary check up, the EMT suggested that we go to a little urgent care clinic where A very nice D.O. took some x-rays and encouraged us to head towards a hospital with a staff orthopedic surgeon. Dave was feeling pretty good, so we drove to Kingston General Hospital where a crack team of very friendly and capable nurses, doctors and students quickly assessed his injury and recommended surgery. It was like we were on the set of General Hospital. It turns out Dave had an injury that is fairly common to skiers, and as it strangely enough, Tiger Woods, as well. So, later this week, David will be going under the knife to have a piece of bone screwed in place, putting his plans to run a half marathon in February on ice. The mountain was doused in the same rain storm that flooded parts of Ontario today, so perhaps this ski trip was never meant to be.