There’s a certain kind of optimism that can only be described as first-date adrenaline. That’s exactly what I had coursing through my veins as I adjusted my snowboard boots at the base of the mountain, flashing what I hoped was a cool and confident grin at my new girlfriend, Kendra. She stood there, bundled up in neon snow gear, looking simultaneously excited and a little skeptical about my “sick” snowboarding skills. My cousin Brent, the eternal joker and self-proclaimed mountain man, leaned on his board, clearly plotting how to make this outing as chaotic as possible.

“You really think it’s a good idea to bring her here for a first date, Dax?” Brent asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, you could’ve started small. Like coffee or mini-golf.”

“Nah, man,” I said, strapping into my board with the finesse of someone who definitely watches more snowboarding videos than actually hits the slopes. “Go big or go home. Kendra’s cool. She’s got this.”

Kendra, to her credit, didn’t even flinch. “I’ve got this,” she said with a grin that made my heart do a little somersault. “But can you keep up with me?”

Challenge accepted.

The Setup

The day started out perfect. Powdered snow sparkled in the sunlight, and the mountain was buzzing with energy. I was determined to impress Kendra. I showed her how to carve down the slopes, demonstrated a few small jumps, and even managed to avoid face-planting when Brent threw a snowball at my head mid-run. Kendra was catching on quickly, her laugh echoing through the trees every time she nailed a turn or fell into a heap of snow.

“She’s good, Dax,” Brent said on the lift up. “Better than you, honestly.”

“Watch and learn, bro,” I replied, spotting a fallen tree halfway down the next run. An idea popped into my head—the kind of idea that can only come from trying too hard to impress someone. “I’m gonna jump that.”

“What?” Kendra asked, her eyes narrowing. “The tree? Are you serious?”

Brent’s laugh boomed. “This is gonna end in flames, guaranteed.”

But I was committed. The tree wasn’t that big, and in my mind, I saw the perfect arc, me sailing over it like a snowboarding legend. I gave Kendra a quick wink, shouted, “Watch this!” and started my descent.

The Jump That Wasn’t

The approach was flawless. Wind in my face, powder spraying from my board, I felt like Shaun White for about three seconds. Then came the jump.

What I hadn’t calculated was the angle of the tree and the fact that my snowboard’s edge was just slightly too low. Instead of soaring majestically over the obstacle, I caught the edge of the board on the trunk. The world turned into a blur of white, green, and brown as I tumbled through the air, landing with a thud that sent a jolt of pain through my leg.

Brent’s voice cut through the chaos. “Oh, he’s down! He’s DOWN!”

Kendra skidded to a stop beside me, her face a mix of concern and trying not to laugh. “Dax, are you okay?”

“I… think so?” I tried to move, but my leg wasn’t cooperating. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my shin, and I winced. “Actually, maybe not.”

Brent arrived moments later, snow spraying everywhere as he skidded to a dramatic stop. “Don’t worry, folks,” he announced, pulling a small med kit from his backpack. “Certified Army medic, at your service.”

“You carry that around?” Kendra asked, incredulous.

“You never know when Dax will do something dumb,” Brent replied, kneeling down to assess the damage.

The Rescue Mission

Brent, to his credit, was professional and surprisingly gentle as he poked and prodded at my leg. “It’s just a minor fracture,” he concluded, using words that were supposed to sound reassuring but did nothing to alleviate the fact that I was stuck halfway down a mountain.

“Great,” I groaned. “How am I supposed to get down?”

Brent stood dramatically, gripping his board like he was about to charge into battle. “I’ll climb back up to the top and signal ski patrol,” he declared.

“You’re gonna climb back up?” Kendra asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Absolutely. Watch this,” Brent replied, promptly slipping and sliding about five feet backward. “It’s all part of the process!”

Eventually, the ski patrol arrived with a snowmobile, the rider giving me a sympathetic but amused look. As they loaded me onto the sled, Brent gave me a thumbs-up, and Kendra to my surprise reached out and held my hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head.

“But you’re not running away screaming, so I’ll take that as a win,” I replied.

The Emergency Room Bonding

The rest of the day was spent in the emergency room, where I got a neon green cast that Brent insisted on signing first. He drew a lopsided stick figure of me mid-fall with the caption, “Flying Dax Grounded.”

Kendra, meanwhile, turned out to be a great sport. She spent the hours laughing with me, sharing stories about her own clumsy moments, and even raiding the vending machine for snacks.

“So,” I said as we waited for the discharge papers. “Did this totally ruin my chances for a second date?”

Kendra smirked. “You’re lucky you’re funny. And, honestly, this is the most entertaining first date I’ve ever had. But next time, maybe we stick to something less… extreme?”

Brent chimed in from the corner, where he was trying to shove a bag of chips into his coat pocket. “Like mini-golf. I said mini-golf.”

The Wholesome Ending

Despite the fractured leg and the humiliating tumble, that day turned out to be the start of something great. Kendra and I kept seeing each other, Brent became a family hero for his quick medical response, and the story of “Dax’s Big Jump” became a legend retold at every family gathering. To this day, Kendra swears it’s what sealed the deal for her, because if I could laugh at myself, even when things went sideways, then maybe I was worth keeping around.