I remember sitting at the top of a mellow green run, staring down like it was some kind of death chute. My board was strapped in, my gloves were sweaty (even though it was freezing) and I just sat there way too long. People were riding past me like I was some gaper who couldn’t figure out how to stand up. Truth was, I was terrified.
It had been almost a year since I’d really ridden. My body felt alien… like it wasn’t mine anymore. My knee had been rebuilt, the collarbone still ached when I reached across my body and all I could think about was how fragile it all felt.
One bad fall and I’d be right back where I started. But at the same time, the mountains were right there, taunting me. I wanted that first turn so bad I could taste it.
1. The Backstory
I’ve been through my fair share of injuries. A couple of broken wrists back in the day — classic rookie move, catching edges and throwing my hands out. But since I started wearing wrist guards I haven’t had another one (touch wood).
The real gut punch was the knee. Torn meniscus and ACL. Surgical repair. Months of hobbling around, then limping, then endless physio where bending my leg to ninety degrees felt like climbing Everest. I hated it. Every squat and stretch felt like it wasn’t about getting stronger — it was about trying to claw my way back to “normal.”
Just when I was starting to trust that knee again, I snapped my collarbone. Skateboarding.
That one was almost more frustrating than the knee, because it felt like the universe saying, “Sit down, you’re not ready yet.”
I missed another season.
I watched friends plan trips, saw videos of powder days and I sat there scrolling like a bitter old man (aged 27). I’d put so much work into recovering, only to get benched again.
By the time I finally strapped in this season, it wasn’t just about snowboarding anymore. It was about testing myself. Finding out if my body could still handle it, and if my head would even let me try.
Cue the comeback montage…
2. The First Day Back
That first run was ugly. I slid into it like I’d forgotten how to snowboard. Everything felt stiff. My body was on high alert. My knee was braced up, the collarbone felt tight under my jacket and my brain was running through every worst-case scenario.
I remember the first turn.
It wasn’t even a turn, really.
More of a nervous skid.
My back leg didn’t want to bend and the board felt twitchy, like it wanted to shoot out from under me. I kept looking way too close in front of the nose, not down the hill. That’s what fear does: it shrinks your world to a few feet.
Second run wasn’t much better. My quads were already burning (which was a kick in the teeth because I’d spent months in the gym doing rehab). Turns out squats and lunges don’t teach you how to trust an ACL when there’s ice under your edges.
And the fear. Man, the fear was louder than I expected.
Every time I picked up speed, I felt that little panic rise up. Like I’d lost the autopilot I used to have. Snowboarding used to feel natural, now it felt like something I had to relearn, step by step.
There were moments I honestly thought about calling it. Like, “Okay, maybe I had a good run in this sport. Maybe it’s time to just cruise blues once a year and stop pretending.” That thought hit harder than any fall I’d ever taken.
3. The Turning Point
But then (it’s always “but then” with me isn’t it) something clicked.
I don’t even know what changed.
Maybe it was muscle memory finally kicking in, maybe it was just getting sick of being scared.
I linked a few turns, smooth ones. Nothing fancy, just edge to edge, letting the board run. For the first time that day I wasn’t thinking about my knee or my collarbone or what could go wrong. I was just… riding. And I grinned like an idiot. Whilst hitting dizzying speeds of 18 mph.
That little moment. Three, four turns in a row. It was enough to shake something loose in my head. I wasn’t “back” in the way I used to ride, but I wasn’t broken either. I realized I didn’t have to prove anything. I didn’t have to huck cliffs or keep up with the crew bombing blacks. All I had to do was slide down the mountain, and that was enough.
By the end of the day, I wasn’t riding well by any measure, but I was riding. And that felt like a victory.
4. Reflections
Looking back, I think the hardest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab. It was the doubt.
I used to take riding for granted.
Strap in, bomb around, maybe crash, maybe not, but I never thought twice.
After those injuries, every run had this question mark hanging over it: what if I can’t do this anymore?
Weirdly though, I think that made me love snowboarding even more. I started paying attention to the little stuff. Carving clean lines on groomers, just floating through a turn instead of trying to blast past everyone. I used to be all about sending it, chasing steeps and powder stashes, but now I catch myself just happy to be out there. I guess breaking yourself a few times forces you to slow down and actually notice the mountain. Too corny? I don’t care!
There’s a different kind of stoke that comes from surviving the comeback. It’s not the adrenaline high of a big drop. It’s quieter, steadier. Like, yeah, my body’s not invincible. But I still get to do this. And that’s enough.
5. Tips for Riding Again After Injury
If you’re staring down your own “first day back,” here’s what I wish someone had told me:
Start smaller than you think. Don’t head straight for the black runs to prove a point. Take the greens. Take the blues. Just let your body remember how to move again.
Ride with the right people. Friends who get it, who don’t pressure you to “send it.” A patient buddy is worth gold.
Listen to your body, not your ego. This is the hardest one. Your head will scream, “You used to do this, you should do it now.” Ignore it. If your body feels sketchy, pull back.
Redefine success. Success isn’t keeping up with your old crew or dropping cliffs. Success is finishing a run without pain, or linking smooth turns. Or just being able to ride again the next day – or week. That’s the win.
Celebrate the small stuff. First day back, every tiny step matters. First turn, first run, first time you forget about your injury for ten seconds. Those little victories stack up. Ever seen Kevin Pearce’s comeback on The Crash Reel? Pretty damn inspiring.
Final Thoughts
If you are going through this yourself, the long rehab, the frustration, the fear of strapping back in, just know you are not the only one. I spent way too long in my own head thinking I had to figure it all out alone. The truth is, a lot of us have been broken, sat on the sidelines and wondered if we would ever get back.
Do not suffer in silence. Talk about it. Reach out if you want. Shoot me a message. Sometimes just hearing someone say “yeah, I’ve been there too, it freaking sucks” is enough to take the edge off.
Snowboarding and skiing are not just about the turns. They’re about the community (yep, I’m feeling corny today). These are the people who understand what it feels like to be held back by your own body. You are still a rider even if you feel fragile right now. And if all you manage this season is one shaky run down a green, that still counts. That is still brave.
You are not done.
– Mike 2.0
The Snow Chasers
Needed this. Got into snowboarding and first season caught an edge on ice hard enough to get a concussion and crack the helmet . Took a whole next season to gain the confidence to finally learn to snowboard. Fast forward 8 seasons later, enjoying a great end piste, but caught an edge hard, thankfully just a bruised sacrum and ego. But when I’m healed up, away I go again. There is no greater victory I feel in confronting our fears, even if it’s each time, and learning to strive onwards one slope after another. Salutations from La Tzoumaz, Switzerland :)!
Hey Carlos, thanks for stopping by. Sorry to hear about the injuries – concussions suck! As for sacral injuries, I’m a big fan of impact shorts for that very reason. Worth considering if you’re getting back into it. Hope you have a great season! Mike