On Christmas morning of 2024, I was struck from behind by a 215-pound, 6’2” snowboarder traveling at a high rate of speed. I went sailing through midair, spun 180 degrees, and landed on my back as if I’d dropped from a second-story window onto a concrete sidewalk. My pelvis cracked like a peppermint Lifesaver. Later, a friend asked if I’d gotten the guy’s name and number. Would I sue? I considered it. Briefly. I mean, he was totally at fault. I was clearly the downhill skier.