I grew up less than 3 miles from the ski resort. But for all intents and purposes I grew up at the ski resort. Literally every winter day from the 3rd grade to senior year in high school my life was consumed by skiing. When could I ski next, with who (normally Jimi and Chad), where (normally Brandywine) and for how long. The early days also posed questions like how am I going to get there, what will I eat and how will I get home as late as possible (normally Mom, a Snickers Bar and Mom, respectively). I managed to get all the questions answered each year to make sure I kept skiing as much as possible. That was my life and I wouldn't have it another way.
So naturally as I got older the skiing became competitive, I was getting better and better and I was having more and more fun each year. Most winters I was able to tag along with Dad for a week in Colorado on his business trips, this provided me more opportunities to ski with some good kids and learn the latest trends in skiing so that I could really set the bar high when it was time to come back down to Ohio.
It was time to get a job in high school and skiing was still on the mind. Lucky for me one of Ohio's best ski specialty shops was about 2 minutes down the road from school. Even better the owner's son went to my school and naturally through skiing we became friends and coworkers. 
Over the course of several years I was lucky enough to have made the people at Buckeye Sports Center not just my employer, but my second home, my second family, my best friends, my girlfriends, and even more. We were a close knit group of people who all shared the same love for skiing. We made our livings skiing, we talked skiing, we read skiing books and magazines, we watched skiing movies, and in our free time we skied together. We had easy access to the worlds latest and best gear and the cheapest lift tickets across the country. We were a make shift winter family and skiing was our last name. My skiing life was becoming well rounded and the line between it and real life was getting frozen over.
Over the course of several years I was lucky enough to have made the people at Buckeye Sports Center not just my employer, but my second home, my second family, my best friends, my girlfriends, and even more. We were a close knit group of people who all shared the same love for skiing. We made our livings skiing, we talked skiing, we read skiing books and magazines, we watched skiing movies, and in our free time we skied together. We had easy access to the worlds latest and best gear and the cheapest lift tickets across the country. We were a make shift winter family and skiing was our last name. My skiing life was becoming well rounded and the line between it and real life was getting frozen over.BSC is a part of my life I hold dearly. From the friendships and family to learning the business of retail, Buckeye represents a certain part my life in the truest and purest sense. But all of that BSC love will have to wait for another time and blog...
Back to skiing. I was good. Really good, and getting better. Free skiing was just starting to become semi popular and myself and my friends were on the eastern forefront of what is now called the freestyle skiing revolution. In the winter I was
competing as much as I could but it was tough to find freestyle events where skiers were allowed to enter, when we found them, we entered, and we won most of the time. In the summers I was going to camps across the county and doing quite well. As a result of all of this my skills, local popularity, and my head were growing year over year and I liked it.Enter February 2005. The annual Surge (remember that stuff?) Big Air Competition at Brandywine Ski Resort. Now in the hierarchy of important events this one ranked pretty low being a very small local event in the middle of customer appreciation weekend at the resort. It didn't get me points or standings and I don't even think it was a USSA sanctioned event. None the less this event was big for me. It was on my "home court" with all my friends and family there most years.
It was a sunny Sunday afternoon and the 25ft or so table top they built was actually respectable for Ohio. The snow was soft and fast. This was going to be a whole lot of fun...and easy I remember thinking.
The competition format was easy. Everyone jumps twice, 3 judges (all my friends) score you on amplitude, style, and landing. Take your best score of the 2 jumps. My randomly assigned number that afternoon happened to be 747. Fitting, I remember thinking, because my friend Jimi and I had a pretty solid reputation around the resort for jumping MUCH higher than anyone around. We were also the reigning champs in this event for the past 3 years. Jimi wasn't there this day. He was attending a funeral of a close friend of ours grandfather, most of my friends were at the funeral. I should have been at the funeral too.
I have to say I will never forget for the rest of my life the calmness I felt standing in the start box waiting for the sign to go. The sound of some friends shouting out my number, the cowbells ringing and my last name and number getting the call for the go-ahead. I remember approaching the jump as usual in a quasi tuck position trying to gain as much speed as possible. I remember leaving the ground. Then I remember something going wrong. Way wrong. I was high in the air and it was silent.
After performing some variation of a twisting flipping upside down inside out something or another, I came down hard, perpendicular to the pitch line. The impact almost took me to the ground but I fought to stay upright, one ski ejected because of the force. I over shot the landing pretty significantly and landed flat from about 30ft up. It wasn't dramatic and probably just really sloppy looking. I remember gathering my ski and feeling embarrassed. I had a hard time getting it back on and getting down the rest of the hill. When I finally got down a reporter from The Plain Dealer walked up to me and asked if she could ask me a few questions about freestyle skiing and this event. Sure, why not. Talking to the reporter was the first time I really experienced the stinging pain in my right knee. It hurt like hell but I was keeping cool as we spoke. When we were done talking I hopped back on the chair lift and back up to the start line.
Because of the large number of participants it would be a while until my final attempt. So I gingerly skied over to a pack of friends sitting and watching on the side of the hill near the jump. One was a ski patroller. When I skied up to her I remember her asking me what happened up there, it wasn't like me. I told her I didn't know but that I heard my knee pop when I landed and that it hurt really bad. She rolled up my ski pant, grabbed a rubber glove from her medical kit and stuffed it with ice. She said it looked swollen, to keep the ice on it and whatever i do, DON'T JUMP AGAIN, this little event was not worth it. It wasn't that bad, I remember thinking as she skied off.
I am here to tell you, had I listened to her that day, my athletic career would not be what it is or isn't today. But of course I ignored her, jumped again and this time managed to completely blow out my right knee upon "landing". My knee had completely exploded from the inside. Even though I executed the jump properly in the air my semi weakened injured knee could not take the impact of landing again and completely gave out on me. My whole body smashed to the snow. After what seemed like hours I was loaded onto a sled and was taken (by my friend) off the side of the hill and into the medical hut. I remember asking the ski patrollers as they were getting me on the back board if this meant that I disqualified. They laughed...I wasn't joking. Once in the medical hut the pain set in, it was the most concentrated and intense feeling I had ever experienced in my life. I will never forget the look on my dad's face when the doctor told him the damage.
What happened from there is less important. But what I like to tell people is that it really wasn't that big of a deal. Just a few trips to the hospital, several MRI's and X-Rays 
over the course of 3 months. A knee reconstruction surgery at 19 years old, several months on a couch, more in PT, missed school, strained friendships, plenty of finger pointing, a plastic trophy (I actually still won on my first jump) a custom made thigh to ankle ski brace, buckets of tears and pain killers, and most importantly the experience of listening to a doctor tell me I would never competitively ski again. Not to mention enough alone time on a couch to come face to face depression, doubt, regret, attempted prescription drug abuse, my parents, medical bills and the reality of dealing with a life and body changing injury.
over the course of 3 months. A knee reconstruction surgery at 19 years old, several months on a couch, more in PT, missed school, strained friendships, plenty of finger pointing, a plastic trophy (I actually still won on my first jump) a custom made thigh to ankle ski brace, buckets of tears and pain killers, and most importantly the experience of listening to a doctor tell me I would never competitively ski again. Not to mention enough alone time on a couch to come face to face depression, doubt, regret, attempted prescription drug abuse, my parents, medical bills and the reality of dealing with a life and body changing injury.My skiing life hit a brick wall hard and fast that day in February. And my real life was staring me in the face. The good life I knew from age 9 was over. What the hell was I going to do now, I remember thinking.
Fast forward a year or so. Healed emotionally and physically I was back in college. John Carroll. I had just transferred from a school in Buffalo, New York that I went to right out of high school. It was a good move to transfer. The only reason I went there was because I had a chance to ski on the Holiday Valley Ski Team and I needed to be close to the resort. Out of high school I chose my college based on skiing without ever seeing the school or campus. Maybe I wasn't healed completely, denial is a bitch. The injury prevented me from skiing at a high level and the team never panned out for me. So after a two years in Buffalo I moved home to Cleveland and focused on something other than skiing for once in my life...graduating college.I can honestly say I don't remember why, but that spring I signed up for the Cleveland Marathon 10k. My dad took me to the expo. I stayed up all night the night before with nerves and ran the race in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt. I remember sprinting to the line trying to finish under an hour. For the first time since my accident I felt a rush that equaled what I felt on the slopes. It was different in a way, but a similar feeling of being alive rushed through my body as I pushed though the line. I couldn't believe it.
Crossing the finish I was exhausted, but something about the experience was addicting. This running thing, I remember thinking, it's tough, but I kinda like it...
