The true story of the time I got punched in the face.

I should preface this by stating that I have, in face, been punched in the face more than once. I was a bit of a scrappy middle schooler.

However, this particular story distinguishes itself from the crowd because I not only got punched in the face, but I also lost a ski race and broke a tooth and got broken up with on the same day.

Needless to say, it was not a very good day.

It all started the first week of my freshman year of high school. I was outside after school one day enjoying the sunshine when a scruffy looking kid in those weird baggy chain pants and a choker necklace pointed at me and declared that I was his new best friend.

At the time I was shy and had weird hair and was chunky and had a penchant for suede sweatpants. I basically did what any introvert would do – I ran away.

Kudos to the boy, however, because he chased me down and to this day he is one of my closest friends, although he’s look outgrown the scruffy skater boy look. I refer to him as Barney Stinson.

Yet I digress. Barney and I became close friends, and on January 20th, 2005, we made out on a chairlift.

From that point on we were the high school equivalent of a couple until February 14th, 2005. Valentine’s day.

I can’t exactly remember why Barney and I broke up, although it probably had a lot to do with the fact that we were 15 and had no idea how relationships worked other than kissing sometimes and holding hands in the hall and writing each other stupid notes to put into each other’s lockers. This was before Facebook, so I didn’t even get to change my status, although I’m betting there was a Myspace equivalent.

But Barney Stinson isn’t the point of the story anyways.

Barney Stinson is the reason I was upset on Valentine’s day, which, although it was a Monday, I had a ski race on. Because I was upset, I performed worse than I usually did in GS, which was my favorite event.

This is not an accurate representation of what I look like when I ski. I am not a man.

I scuffed it badly enough that I was just on the end of the flip 30.

(Basically, in racing, you always get two runs. The first run is timed and ranked, and the lowest 30 times get “flipped” in order for the second run, so that the quickest time runs 30th and the 30 best time runs first. You get it. It’s not that important anyways. Shutting up.)

Just before my second run, a boy (who for the life of me I can’t remember) whom I knew came over to wish me good luck and punched me in the face.

Yes. You read that correctly.

He punched me in the face with his ski pole still in his hand.

And then he skied away.

Now, I honestly can’t explain why this happened or what was going on in his head or whether or not it was an accident, because I was too busy spitting out sections of my canine to be super concerned about it, and I didn’t really have time to think about it anyways, because it was my turn to race.

The second time around I actually placed 3rd, but it still wasn’t enough to podium, which quite frankly was okay with me because at that point the adrenaline was wearing off and I was in a significant amount of pain anyways.

Had I thought about it at the time, I would probably have hunted the kid down and asked him what happened that day. I’m about 75% positive it was an accident.

I also find it weird that I don’t remember who it was. You’d think that that would be something you wouldn’t forget.


High school, right?

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