Every Scar Has a Story: The High Price of a Fearless Life

eBroken Bones You See — The Invisible Scars You Don't

"If we're not falling and crashing, then we're not learning and improving." - JF

When I first strapped into a snowboard at 13 years old and entered the world of professional competition, I had no idea what lay ahead. In the action sports world, you quickly learn it holds no prisoners. It is a brutal arena where skill, heart, and raw guts collide with a reality that no one wants to talk about: injury, trauma, and loss.

Over the last 35 years of my life, through snowboarding, skateboarding, motorbiking, and countless other sports, I've accumulated an injury list that reads more like a horror novel than a resume.

• A broken back in six places.

• 27 rib fractures or breaks

• Twelve fractured or broken clavicles.

• Nine dislocated shoulders.

• Dozens of sprains and severe bruising

• Six knee reconstructions (and counting — two osteotomies still needed).

• A shattered coccyx, broken arm, fractured feet and fingers, bruised heels.

• And perhaps most dangerously, 22 concussions.

This is the reality no one likes to post about, sponsor, or glamorize.

Built from Pain: A Life of Injury, Trauma, and Resilience

The physical injuries you see are only part of the battle.

Injury, no matter your age, is traumatic. It's not just the pain of the broken bone or the torn ligament — it's the deeper, more invisible pain that lingers long after the casts are cut off and the scars fade. Every injury was another silent passenger that climbed aboard my life — a passenger made of pain, fear, doubt, and grief.

Watching my friends fall, seeing catastrophic injuries happen in the blink of an eye, and in some tragic cases, witnessing death firsthand — these moments leave marks on the soul that never fully heal. You don't "move on."You carry it. It reshapes you.

The physical trauma was brutal. But the emotional trauma? It was often worse.

The Unseen Cost of Living Without Limits

What they don't tell you about chasing the dream.

What made the stakes even higher was the industry itself. Most professional sponsorship contracts came with a cold reality hidden deep in the fine print: if you were injured for more than 60 days, you could be terminated. No job. No paycheck. No future.

So there we were — teenagers, young adults — throwing ourselves off cliffs, down handrails, into competitions, taking bigger and bigger risks, fully aware that if we didn't perform perfectly and fearlessly, we might lose everything we had worked so hard to achieve.

The stress was enormous.The pressure was suffocating.And it took a massive toll on my mental health, my body, and ultimately my life outside of sport.

There was no room for fear, no margin for hesitation, and absolutely no acceptance of safety measures that might "look bad."In those years, wearing a helmet while snowboarding outside of mandatory events was considered a complete faux pas. It was "uncool."If you wore a helmet in photo shoots or video parts, your footage was often tossed aside. It didn’t fit the image that the industry demanded.

As a result, many of us — myself included — rode without protection, exposing ourselves to brutal impacts, violent crashes, and repeated head trauma.

Throughout my life, I have sustained 22 concussions. And now, years later, the true cost of those choices has caught up to me. I’ve been diagnosed with Stage 1 CTE — Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy — a degenerative brain condition linked to repetitive head injuries.

Head injury is no joke. There’s no question that the number of concussions I sustained has impacted my balance, my memory, my mood, and my mental health over the years. The personality shifts.The depression.The struggles with emotional regulation.The physical issues.

But here’s the part that matters: I’m not afraid of my diagnosis.

Today, huge strides are being made in the treatment of CTE.New medications, groundbreaking therapies like psilocybin-based programs, and innovative brain health strategies are changing the game. There’s real hope.

The combination of mental health challenges, addiction, and CTE is common among pro athletes, but it’s also manageable if you’re willing to do the work, prioritize your health, and take your healing seriously.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

For the first time in a long time, I’m truly taking care of myself, my priorities, my mental and physical health — the way I always should have, and the way everyone deserves to.

I’m not alone, either. Some of my pro hockey and pro action sports friends are walking the same road — facing the same diagnoses — and they are living their best lives ever. Their families are stronger. Their relationships are thriving. And every day is better than the last.

It’s an experience I’m living in, too. And it’s nothing short of stupendous.

There is life after trauma.There is healing after hurt.And there is an incredible future waiting for those willing to fight for it.

Beneath the Helmet: The Battle No One Sees

The weight of watching others fall.

After stepping back from competing, I spent almost a decade and a half coaching the next generation of action sports athletes. I also ran countless action sports events — from grassroots contests to massive international showcases.

In those years, I saw more injuries than I can count — broken bones, concussions, blown knees, shattered wrists, spinal injuries. I've witnessed the terror in an athlete’s eyes after a life-altering fall. I've stood helplessly next to injured friends and strangers, feeling the gut-wrenching helplessness that never gets easier.

It’s a unique kind of trauma — one I sometimes compare to the emotional toll experienced by EMS workers. You’re not just seeing injuries; you know exactly what that person is feeling.

You've lived that agony yourself. You don't just observe — you relive your own injuries every time you witness a new one. It creates a crushing emotional weight that builds up over time, one that often leads to anxiety, PTSD symptoms, nightmares, hypervigilance, and a constant, simmering fear of what could happen next.

The Day My Son Broke — And So Did I

The injury that shattered more than one bone.

There’s an injury. There’s witnessing injury. And then there's something far worse — something that hits a place inside you that no physical wound ever could: watching your own child suffer a devastating injury right in front of your eyes.

Last summer, during one of my sober, joy-filled stretches with my boys — a time I was doing everything I could to make memories, to show up as the dad they deserved despite the chaos that had swirled around my life — everything changed in a heartbeat.

We had just gotten our new electric motorbikes. Within a week of getting them, my son came home after a motocross ride at a friend’s house, saw one of the bikes ready to go, and — still geared up — jumped on it without telling us.

He took it onto our BMX pump track, a place designed for bicycles, not electric motorbikes capable of 0–80 km/h in seconds. It was a simple, impulsive moment that set off a catastrophic chain of events.

He hit the throttle too hard and slammed full speed into a tree. The impact spiral-fractured his right femur. The bike, rebounding off a berm, ricocheted into the air, struck another tree, and then landed back on top of him.

The screams that followed will haunt me forever.

When I rushed outside, I saw my son, pale, motionless, and broken. I thought he might be dead. I can still feel the ice in my veins from that moment.

Instinct and training kicked in. I checked his vitals, stabilized him, and called 911. What followed was a massive emergency response: two police cars, EMS supervisors, ambulances, firefighters, even the consideration of a medevac helicopter.

We raced to Markdale Hospital, where X-rays confirmed the seriousness of his injury. I reviewed the x-ray and immediately disputed the initial diagnosis; I knew, from decades of experience, that this wasn’t just a simple break.It was a spiral fracture. The radiologist and another Doctor reviewed and agreed. I whispered to Nic that we should prep to go to London, and the next thing we knew, one Doctor was suggesting it and the other wasn't sure.

We demanded that he be transferred to London Sick Kids to be operated on by orthopedic specialists. He was transferred by ambulance, and by 3:00 a.m., we were there in full survival mode — trying to stay strong for Sawyer.

The surgery was longer than expected—four brutal days in London. The helplessness was suffocating.

But through the grace of God, he pulled through. Thanks to world-class care, the strength, resilience, and love of his mother, my experience with injury management, and a little miracle tool called a cryo cuff, Sawyer made an unprecedented recovery and was back snowboarding just months later.

Today, he's fully healed and has a cool titanium rod in his leg... but that trauma — the image of him broken and screaming — is something I will carry forever. This situation was a crusher for me. I can only imagine what it has done to Nicole. However,

That has never been fully addressed yet. We all deal in different ways. The boys were hitting some jumps the other day, and I could see she was nervous. I kindly reminded her who she has been with for 24 years;).... "fair enough she said. You can't fight fate.

Living with the Pain, Loving the Ride

Trauma lives in the body — but so does the spirit.

Even now, decades later, the fear of reinjury is a shadow that follows me everywhere. Every time I step back onto a board, ride a bike, or even take a simple jump, I hear a voice that whispers: What if it happens again?

The body remembers. The mind remembers. But so does the heart.

And despite it all — despite the scars, the breaks, the trauma — I still love this life.I still love the ride.

Every Scar Has a Story: The High Price of a Fearless Life

The pain. The pride. The price.

What people often see is the cool trick, the magazine cover, the smiling event photo. What they don't see is the therapy, the surgeries, the hours lying awake in pain, the fear, the survivor's guilt, the mental health battles, the relationship strains, the sacrifices.

They don’t see the full cost.

And yet, despite everything — the pain, the injuries, the trauma — I am still here. Still riding and still healing and still. Learning.

Every scar has a story. And mine? It’s still being written — one fearless, imperfect, beautiful day at a time.

🔥 END

About the Author

Jesse Fulton is a retired professional snowboarder, award-winning entrepreneur, and lifelong action sports athlete. Over a career spanning more than three decades, Jesse has built global businesses, coached the next generation of riders, competed in the Olympics, and lived the full, brutal reality of life beyond the limits.Today, he shares his journey through injury, trauma, mental health challenges, recovery, and resilience, aiming to inspire others to heal, fight, and find meaning beyond the scars.