Long story short I hate skiing. It is the worst thing you could ask me to try. I’ve never liked it. As a small child my parents would try so hard, buying me a seasons pass, all the gear, and I would walk from the car to the village and inside to the bathroom. I would sleep on the counter curled up next to the radiator. Sometimes I would wake up to women washing their hands or applying lipstick. Sometimes they would ask if I was ok.
Flash forward man many years later. I marry… a skiier. Ugh. What was I thinking. Lol. He’s actually lovely and amazing and patient and kind. And has spent so much time teaching our children to ski. They all love it. They love to ski. They miss one day a week of school and also go up one weekend day. We try to stay up the mountain for a week over Christmas and again over spring break. Typically I hang out in the cabin. I hot tub. Once a year the children force me to go down tube town and laugh as I scream in terror.
I told the girls tales of the few times I tried skiing when I was younger. Of how I tried Milky Way and was going so slow that a kind older man asked if I wanted to walk down the mountain and he would carry my skis down for me. About how my friends waited for so long for me to come down that same run that they sent ski patrol up to get me and had me sled back to the village. My youngest laughed, my oldest was horrified and begged me to not do that lol
This year I felt left out. I felt like I should participate. So I can be apart of something they all love. Watch my children as they show off what they’ve learned and all of their skills.
So I did it. I signed up for a lesson and two days of skiing. I didn’t realize how ambitious this was. The ski lesson alone was two hours. A very kind and patient man, Lynn, did his best to encourage me. He cheered my small progresses and encouraged me to stop laying on the bunny hill. To also stop asking what time it was. He tried bribing me with chocolate even. We took the gondola up the hill to walk around. Little did he know it wasn’t just skiing I disliked. I dislike heights, cold, snow, speed, random bumps as you glide up the mountain. By the time we reached the top I feared I would vomit. Lynn, the sweet sweet man he is offered to carry my skis. I looked around completely shocked. Shocked that all of these people were here by choice and that they were enjoying themselves. Don’t they worry as they speed down the mountain? Don’t they fear for their lives like I do? The amount of concerns and questions that fly through my mind as I ski so slowly. Ski so slowly that I’ve seen people walk faster. Will I freeze to death? Why does this hurt so much? Is this really a pleasure for people? Why? Why do they make these boots so dang uncomfortable? How much longer will this last?
We rode the gondola back down the mountain. Clearly my skills are not so advanced that I can glide down the mountain like all of the happy people. It was back to the bunny hill/the zone for me. Lynn thought maybe I was ready for poles. Was I really? This was my chance. Ride up that magic carpet and make it down the measly perhaps 20 feet to prove that I’m not just a hot tubber… hmmmm as I neared the top of the magic carpet I realized. What the heck am I supposed to do with the poles? As I shuffled them back and forth and questioned my position, I hit the top, leaned back, my skis went under the plastic and I fell. It wasn’t a graceful fall either. I felt it. I fell like Eddie Murphys aunt Bunny fell down the stairs at the family cookout. A ski popped off. I rolled a few times. The studly gate attendant, whose roles and responsibilities are questionable, laughed. My instructor got to the top and asked “Dawn, why would you embarrass me like that? People are laughing. Now they probably think I can’t teach”. Fair enough Lynn. Let’s focus on my old lady spinal cord for a minute and see if I can still move. As I looked up I saw the studly & slightly useless attendant had tossed my skis to the side. Conveniently they had landed right next to the garbage. I thought for a brief moment, was that deliberate? Coincidental? Should I read into this? I couldn’t let my kids down. I needed to try again. I popped my skis on one last time. I skied back to the village (less then 3 minutes) and thanked Lynn for this support and knowledge. He gave me some discount coupons for the village and ran away as fast as possible.
My kids and husband thought we should celebrate with lunch. I couldn’t wait to get this crazy boots off my feet. Whoever designed them clearly enjoyed inflicting pain on people. We ate and then I headed down the mountain. I needed cold and heat and a nap and some pain meds and a hot tub.
Would I be ok to try again tomorrow? Would I be in pain? Would I be brave enough? Could I be one of those happy ski lovers at the top of the mountain? Doubtful…but tomorrow will tell
