Accident Prone: A Collection of Personal Essays

Accident Prone

I have always been accident prone, but there have been weeks when I was more inclined toward accidents than others. One of those times was during my first trip to Breckenridge, Colorado, in the summer of 2011 — the summer when Angry Birds began its rise in popularity. In that week, I managed to hurt myself three times in increasingly strange and foolish ways.

The first time I was hurt was during the first of the dreaded hikes. I have never liked hikes because they have always seemed tedious and boring to me not to mention the inevitable heat and bugs. This particular hiking trail included a portion which took place along a mountainside ridge. One misplaced step later, I was halfway down that ridge, and my knee was torn to shreds. Only two days later, I was lying on the couch innocently reading a book when I reached back to turn off the overhead lamp. For my troubles, I somehow managed to burn my hand on the lightbulb, and the shiny burn scar did not heal fully until almost a year later.

My final accidental injury took place during a ten mile bike ride from Breckenridge to Frisco with my family, excluding my mother who still does not know how to ride a bike. It was surprisingly enjoyable with cooler weather and gentle breeze though as we entered Frisco in the last mile, the trail began to twist, curve, and turn without warning. In one section, there was an incredibly sharp left turn which I failed to notice in time. In my defense, the warning sign was obscured by overgrown foliage. However, I admit that I was going a little too fast to notice anything at all in time. Before I knew it, my bike and I were flying off the trail. This particular part of the trail was bordered by reeds and a small creek, and I was plunged waist deep into chilling, mud-colored water. Furthermore, someone had at some point thought that it was a good idea to string barbed wire around this creek. Needless to say, neither I nor my borrowed bike left the creek unscathed. In several spots, the bike's paint was chipped and peeling, and the bike itself was slimy. I was caught by the barbed wire which resulted in several deep scratches along my right leg including a strange, U-shaped one. The whole ordeal was quite embarrassing and unpleasant, and I remember my dad trying to console me by saying that I'd laugh about it later. He was right of course; sometimes, when I'm feeling down, I like to bring up that memory and laugh.

That week held the title of the 'Week of Many Injuries' for an impressive four years. The trip itself though was not wholly unpleasant; in fact, Breckenridge still holds a special place in my heart. I am of the strong opinion that no matter how many times I fall off ridges, burn myself on lightbulbs, or take an unwanted swim in the creek there, I will still be fond of that town. My sister, on the other hand, is of the strong opinion that I am a masochist.