It does, however, give me a little angst for the guy leaning out the window.
I grew up skiing; dad had all of us on skis by the time we were 4, and for most of my life it’s been my sport. Once, when I was 20, I was in leave and skiing with dad, and I wiped out spectacularly on a run in such a way that I ran over my own hand. My memory of the details isn’t exactly clear; I think what happened is that I lost a ski, went ahead of it somehow, fell, and the ski ran over my hand. However it happened, it sliced right through a heavy glove and the meat of the insides of all four of my fingers, down to the bone. The stitches didn’t bother me, but them having to do each finger separately was uniquely uncomfortable. I was lucky that there was no permanent damage except scarring.
I didn’t stop skiing, but it did change my perspective on skis, and photos like this make me which about sharp edges, velocity, and exposed body parts.
This looks like it was a blast.
It does, however, give me a little angst for the guy leaning out the window.
I grew up skiing; dad had all of us on skis by the time we were 4, and for most of my life it’s been my sport. Once, when I was 20, I was in leave and skiing with dad, and I wiped out spectacularly on a run in such a way that I ran over my own hand. My memory of the details isn’t exactly clear; I think what happened is that I lost a ski, went ahead of it somehow, fell, and the ski ran over my hand. However it happened, it sliced right through a heavy glove and the meat of the insides of all four of my fingers, down to the bone. The stitches didn’t bother me, but them having to do each finger separately was uniquely uncomfortable. I was lucky that there was no permanent damage except scarring.
I didn’t stop skiing, but it did change my perspective on skis, and photos like this make me which about sharp edges, velocity, and exposed body parts.