For most college students, recalling past spring breaks is a seriously daunting task, what with the dynamic duo of alcohol-induced memory loss and frequently scandalous sexcapades.
College students often say, "Whatever happens on spring break stays on spring break." But, my memories of past "spring breaks" are not only clear, but they are also quite painful.
You see, I have a whole other definition of "spring breaks" because while I'm on one, I have a tendency to break something.
I've broken three fingers, a hand and an arm. Now, I know people break bones all the time, but I doubt many can pinpoint a common thread between all their breaks.
Just my luck. I can.
They were broken during basketball. They were broken during consecutive years. They were broken during spring break.
Nearly every lasting memory I have regarding a spring break involves a game of basketball on the driveway, a rush to the emergency room and a brightly colored cast for friends to sign.
The memories are so clear because each "break" happened in the exact same way. For a solid four years in a row, before I moved to Arizona in 1994, I would rush out for a game of basketball at my friend David Hugar's house. On the first day of spring break, I was eager to kick off my newfound freedom with a bang.
During those four years, I started each break with a bang, all right.
I remember attempting to rebound the basketball. As the ball came down towards me, it banged my fingers.
The impact jammed my joints together, causing a finger to break.
There has always been something about this highly anticipated week off from school that drives me to break my bones. I am a cursed man.
I became so consistent with my mishaps that my family began to joke about how many days I'd last on break without breaking something. You know, I wouldn't have been surprised if my parents had a pool going with other relatives regarding what bone I'd break next.
Let's face it. You know it's gotten bad when the orthopedist recognizes you outside the office.
Well, this spring break, I told myself I would end my curse. I swore to myself that I would make it through this week without any breaks, fractures or sprains. This kind of promise would have had no substance if I had decided to remain indoors, in my room, away from any slightly dangerous object that could lead to the breaking of bones.
I wasn't going to make this attempt to beat my curse that simple. In order to beat this curse, I decided to try out new, more-dangerous sports that would tempt me with bone-shattering possibilities.
On Sunday, March 21, I drove with a friend up to Flagstaff to experience snowboarding for the first time at Snowbowl.
Amongst the icy slopes, towering pines and misty mountains, I confronted my curse. I was scared, knowing the odds were against me. There was a strong chance I would end up in a cast by the end of the day.
Well, I did fall. I did tumble. I think there may even have been a flip or two. But, I didn't break any bones.
But I still wasn't convinced I had beaten my curse.
I turned to another friend who had gotten a skateboard for Christmas. She was afraid to try it out on campus at ASU for fear of rolling over someone. So, I told her that we'd learn how to ride together -- at the skate park -- without any assistance.
We arrived at the skate park to find it closed for park maintenance. Our disbelief turned into sighs of relief, knowing we were not ready for half pipes, skate pools and grind bars.
Instead, we hit up the sidewalks of Sereno Park, near Desert Shadows Elementary School in Scottsdale. We went without pads or wrist guards because that would have been cheating.
By the end, we had both fallen at least once, but neither of us had broken anything.
We may have had some bruised hands and egos, but that is to be expected in the realm of extreme sports.
Upon returning home, I did a victory dance on the kitchen tile. I made it through spring break without breaking anything.
But, like the Chicago Cubs say at the end of every season, there's always next year.
Jimmy Shoffman writes about whatever he feels like writing about ... GAAAWWWSH! Reach him at james.shoffman@asu.edu.