Reasons I can't always act as if I am at least 10 years younger

I am in no-cell phone land, up a mountain driveway encased by snow draped trees. I may look a little rounder than usual, being layered in the eternally unflattering beige polyester of snow pants, but I am feeling pretty idyllic as I sit on the back of a snowmobile, wind sneaking through my scarf, the outstretched branches sparkling and contrasting to the gradually dimming sky. In fact, as I trudge up a hill, crazy carpet in hand, I think that I could perhaps write part two of the post below, sprinkling a few new ways I've remained in touch with my inner kid over the past few days.

I unroll the crazy carpet, and plop myself down on my stomach on top. With a quick kick and a little elbow work, I start hurtling down the hill just quick enough to get a slight twinge of a rush in my belly.

All the sudden,  I am slowing down.

And choking.

I gasp, dig my heels into the snow, and look down simultaneously, to see my scarf, still as securely connected to my neck as moments ago, but also entangled with the hand holes in the plastic below. It takes me a few moments to unweave myself from the contraption, as the people at the bottom of the hill looked at me quizzically as I stand up with my new crazy carpet necklace.

The next round, I decide, would be better completed sitting. It takes me a few seconds longer to gain momentum with my arms higher off the ground, but soon I am hurtling down the hill, backwards, laughing.

From my backwards perspective, I notice the german shepherd rapidly bolting down the slope behind me. At first, I think he is just chasing me, and I giggle at his excitement. Then, his frantic barking reaches my ears. He soon follows, and he is biting at my arm. I'm sure he is just trying to stop what he sees as my uncontrolled tumble down the hill, but his teeth don't just get my jacket on the second nip, and he pinches my arm through the fabric. He keeps pace with me, barking, as I fly down the hill, and I am trying to negotiate with him, calm him down, slow him down, anything.

And, suddenly, I slam into something very solid from behind. The dog dashes away. It turns out, that in my attempts to bargain with the dog, I have neglected to twirl myself back to facing frontwards, and have collided with a parked car. I roll off the crazy cart of doom into the snow, and wincing, stare up at the dusky sky above.

Perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something.

(But, achy as I was, I still went for one more run, just to spite it.)