Caffiend II

After some serious pondering and deep, methodical thinking, I have decided upon my Extreme Sport of choice. But beforehand, I would like to list the runners-up, and my reasons for disqualifying them.

Todays Runner-Up:

Tobogganning.
Sure, you say. What a totally sissy sport. But notice that kids toboggan, and adults do NOT. I discovered why the hard way. Picture this: A bright blue sky, a lovely snowy white hill, laughing children. A nice, long, steep, snowy white hill. Beautiful sunshiney day. Children laughing! and sliding! Tumbling and falling, running back up to slide again...wheee! Looks like fun!
However, few people stop to consider the math. The average tobogganing child weighs approximately 80 pounds. Multiply this by the surface area of the toboggan, and then the slip speed. Slip speed varies from vehicle to vehicle...a wooden toboggan has a much slower slip speed than a piece of convex plastic sprayed with Pam. If you double the weight of the rider and factor in the surface area and slip speed, you go from having a cute photo op to watching a potentially lethal weapon wipe out everything in its path.
In my case, in my path loomed a solid wall of hay piled neatly along the edge of the park. Some city-slicker park employee must have decided that a wall of nice, soft hay would prevent people from sliding out onto the street. What city slickers do not know about baled hay is that, once wet, it will freeze solid into a two-foot thick wall of unassailable, bulletproof granite. Obviously, no one was ever meant to get anywhere near these deadly bales of hay. Because hitting one would be bad. It would be really, really bad. It felt, in fact, almost like I was hitting a solid, unassailable, bulletproof granite wall.
So. Factor in my weight, my daughters weight (95 pounds) and the slip speed of an over-inflated three foot inner tube. I saw it coming in plenty of time to turn us around so that I hit the wall instead of her. She bounced harmlessy off of me. I, between her weight, our speed, and the frozen wall, was popped straight upwards at the speed of an unladen swallow. I flipped in midair like the most delicate ballerina, then belly flopped onto the sidewalk with the same splatting sound that pigeon crap would make after falling from the height of a 50 story building.
Thank God for the Poop-n-Scoop laws. Seriously. Thank you, God, that I did not land face down in a nice, steamy-on-the-inside, frosty-on-the-outside, winter pile of Great Dane crap. Might have softened the blow, mind you. But then I wouldn't be able to do this neat trick where I can see my vertebrae where my belly button used to be.