(no subject)
You should have seen me. Bright white snow pants, a green vest, and the finest pair of goggles $5 could rent from the ski chalet. It wasn't my first attempt at strapping an object to my feet and shooting down a mountain, but I made a vow on New Years that I would try new things and although I had attempted (and failed) at snowboarding, I thought maybe skiing would be easier.
How very wrong I was.
After lying about my weight to the ski rental guy, I retrieved all that I needed to complete my ski ensemble. There was a group of us that day, and about half were beginners. As I stepped into my skies, I had one of my boyfriend's friends ramble of the basics. I just wanted to know how to stop and not fall down. How hard could that be with a pole in each hand? After all, I saw 6 year olds whizzing by me on snowboards. This would be a piece of cake.
I proudly stepped up to the chairlift. Now I'm not sure how many of you have been before, but they don't shoot for comfort here. Not knowing that they don't stop, I was a little surprised when it picked my ass right up out of the air and had us going in no time. Another thing I didn't take into account, was my fear of heights. Not only did I have a slight problem with heights, I also had a boyfriend that thought it would be comical to rock the chair back and fourth upon hearing of my fear. Should I have expected anything else?
We reached the top without incident, when I jumped off the chairlift and took a firm face plant into the snow. One slightly irritating thing I learned about skies is that they stay on your feet, and you can't in fact "just get up" as one would suggest. After 30 solid seconds of whining that another group would plow right into me after their departure off the lift of doom, my trusty boyfriend helped me up.
This was clearly not the bunny hill. If any of you ever go skiing for the first time with friends who are pros, please read the resort map before agreeing to get on any lifts. If I had, I may have not been staring at the certain death ahead of me. My life flashed. I dreamed of summer. My Grandfather's last, important words popped into my head, "Don't go skiing." Alright he didn't say that, but I wished SOMEONE had said it.
This couldn't be so bad. The guy who had been skiing for 15 years told us if we wanted to stop, just point your skies together like a pizza slice. He demonstrated, and his pizza slice did in fact make him stop. Mine did not. I went down that mountain faster than a fat guy at a buffet. Somehow, however, it took us 2 hours to get down. Perhaps because in between my slides of doom, I was face down in the snow, praying that the bottom would soon be there. I would have felt foolish had my fellow beginners not been getting as many facewashes as I, but it appeared we were in the same boat.
When I did reach the glorious, wonderful bottom, I went straight to the food area. Although it wasn't food I was seeking, but a beverage that would ease the pain of 1000 falls. When I finally sat down with my beer, I was somewhat pleased I had made it down with only a small amount of bruises. We ate the worst hotdog I ever had (possibly made of the people that didn't make it all the way) and sipped on some more beer. Then someone said "Who's ready for more?" I had to get him to repeat himself. Again? We were going to go down that death trap again? I made nervous eye contact with another, more logical beginner, and we decided to stay behind for a little bit. When we finally did get up, it was straight to the bunny hill. Now this part wasn't so bad. One slope, and you're done. There's no second guessing what lies ahead on this one, no wondering if you're going to plow straight into trees. I didn't care if I was in the company of mostly second graders, I was now with people in my league.
When I got home, I inspected the damage I had done that day. Bruises covered me, and today I'm walking like a robot with arthritis.
The lesson here, kids, is that if someone asks you if you'd like to go skiing, close your eyes, and wait till summer
How very wrong I was.
After lying about my weight to the ski rental guy, I retrieved all that I needed to complete my ski ensemble. There was a group of us that day, and about half were beginners. As I stepped into my skies, I had one of my boyfriend's friends ramble of the basics. I just wanted to know how to stop and not fall down. How hard could that be with a pole in each hand? After all, I saw 6 year olds whizzing by me on snowboards. This would be a piece of cake.
I proudly stepped up to the chairlift. Now I'm not sure how many of you have been before, but they don't shoot for comfort here. Not knowing that they don't stop, I was a little surprised when it picked my ass right up out of the air and had us going in no time. Another thing I didn't take into account, was my fear of heights. Not only did I have a slight problem with heights, I also had a boyfriend that thought it would be comical to rock the chair back and fourth upon hearing of my fear. Should I have expected anything else?
We reached the top without incident, when I jumped off the chairlift and took a firm face plant into the snow. One slightly irritating thing I learned about skies is that they stay on your feet, and you can't in fact "just get up" as one would suggest. After 30 solid seconds of whining that another group would plow right into me after their departure off the lift of doom, my trusty boyfriend helped me up.
This was clearly not the bunny hill. If any of you ever go skiing for the first time with friends who are pros, please read the resort map before agreeing to get on any lifts. If I had, I may have not been staring at the certain death ahead of me. My life flashed. I dreamed of summer. My Grandfather's last, important words popped into my head, "Don't go skiing." Alright he didn't say that, but I wished SOMEONE had said it.
This couldn't be so bad. The guy who had been skiing for 15 years told us if we wanted to stop, just point your skies together like a pizza slice. He demonstrated, and his pizza slice did in fact make him stop. Mine did not. I went down that mountain faster than a fat guy at a buffet. Somehow, however, it took us 2 hours to get down. Perhaps because in between my slides of doom, I was face down in the snow, praying that the bottom would soon be there. I would have felt foolish had my fellow beginners not been getting as many facewashes as I, but it appeared we were in the same boat.
When I did reach the glorious, wonderful bottom, I went straight to the food area. Although it wasn't food I was seeking, but a beverage that would ease the pain of 1000 falls. When I finally sat down with my beer, I was somewhat pleased I had made it down with only a small amount of bruises. We ate the worst hotdog I ever had (possibly made of the people that didn't make it all the way) and sipped on some more beer. Then someone said "Who's ready for more?" I had to get him to repeat himself. Again? We were going to go down that death trap again? I made nervous eye contact with another, more logical beginner, and we decided to stay behind for a little bit. When we finally did get up, it was straight to the bunny hill. Now this part wasn't so bad. One slope, and you're done. There's no second guessing what lies ahead on this one, no wondering if you're going to plow straight into trees. I didn't care if I was in the company of mostly second graders, I was now with people in my league.
When I got home, I inspected the damage I had done that day. Bruises covered me, and today I'm walking like a robot with arthritis.
The lesson here, kids, is that if someone asks you if you'd like to go skiing, close your eyes, and wait till summer