Skate Anatomy: Clint Peterson
I was in New York trying to lipslide the world’s chunkiest hubba. I stuck at the top and basically jumped down 12 stairs onto my kneecap. After I could walk again, I received a good amount of sympathy from the girls of Max Fish.
I had a mysterious nugget in my shin. It was really tender, about the size of a small grape. It started to grow and eventually turned into a giant blood clot. When I walked around, I could feel my heartbeat in my shin. After two weeks it started changing color, so I decided enough was enough and popped it like a zit. The dead blood that came out of it was chunky and brown like pudding.
I have a good amount of bone spurs in both ankles, but the left one is in need of some cleaning. It hurts when it rains and prevents the flick of anything switch from looking good.
While running from a cop, I jumped off the side of a parking garage. I lost him but after the adrenaline wore off, I realized I’d bruised my heel. It swelled so much my shoe didn’t fit, and the next time I saw the cop he gave me a ticket for running away.
Bruised Pride and a Bonked Noggin
I’ve hit my head numerous times but the most embarrassing time was when I was hanging with this girl and had my cruiser board with me. I decided to skate down the street with her in the middle of the board and my feet on the nose and tail. As we gained momentum, I realized I couldn’t put my foot down to slow down. Eventually, we slammed going like 30 mph. The damage? She sprained her ankle and had a good amount of skid marks; I got seven stitches in my head and had to tell everyone how she got hurt. Sorry, Kate.
When I first started skating, I was learning to bonk over a spine when my Frankie Hill board with its razor-sharp tail credit-carded me. Nothing was permanently damaged, but that slam gave me my first taste of the world of pain I had just entered.
I was in my friend Gordon’s driveway attempting a 50-50 to impossible. After proclaiming, “This is the one,” I hung up at the beginning of the box and landed with my thumb pointed strait toward the ground, with all the weight of my body on top. When I stood up, my thumb was pointing backward.
I’m constantly slamming on my right side. On one occasion, my hip decided it had enough. I went to bed with a hipper and when I woke up my hip was pregnant. I could barely walk for a week; the blood in my hip was restricting my movement. Over time and with physical therapy, it went away.
My First Swellbow
After repeated blows to my elbow, I grew my first swellbow. After the swelling went down a little, I messed with the juice inside and it grew to five times the size of my original swellbow.
I was attempting a double flip up a three-stair in the early 1990s when I landed on my board, zinged out and landed on my wrist with all my weight. I waited six months before consulting the doctor who told me it was busted. I got surgery eventually, which was botched. Now my wrist only bends back a third of the distance it used to. Thanks, Doc.