Christmas Eve: Whistler Ski Trip
My dream Christmas whistler ski trip can be summed up as follows:
BAH!! NO SNOW!!!
How it was supposed to be:
Me and my hunny swooshing through freshly fallen snow as winter greens laden with white fluff sparkled in the icy winter sun. Snowflakes dancing on noses and eyelashes. A moonlight Christmas Eve stroll through Whistler village, and then hot cocoa while snuggling in front of a crackling fireplace. Snow falling overnight, and then awaking to a thick white blanket on Christmas day. Taking the lift up and looking down at the winter wonderland below us. Wishing each other a Merry Christmas with frosty breaths and rosy cheeks.
How it really was:
Rain. More rain. Even more rain. Skiing in the rain. Slopping through slush puddles. A hot dog for lunch. More sloshing. Take shower, go to sleep. Seven people crammed into one hotel room. Muffin for breakfast. Give up on skiing. Bloody hell. The end.
After we got to the top of the hill, I leisurely skiied down and waited for my group behind me. I was looking down the hill, and suddenly, I felt like I was hit by a truck. As accident survivors usually say, it all happened so fast. One minute I was calmly looking down at the hunny a few meters away, the next minute I was on my back, tangled in a heap of legs, arms, skis, and pain. One of my friends had gotten his ski caught in mine, and then had slammed straight into me. In the process, I wrenched my shoulder and developed a bruise as big as a grapefruit. My left arm now lies rather uselessly and I can't put any weight on it.
So all in all, a not-successful ski trip.
BAH!! NO SNOW!!!
How it was supposed to be:
Me and my hunny swooshing through freshly fallen snow as winter greens laden with white fluff sparkled in the icy winter sun. Snowflakes dancing on noses and eyelashes. A moonlight Christmas Eve stroll through Whistler village, and then hot cocoa while snuggling in front of a crackling fireplace. Snow falling overnight, and then awaking to a thick white blanket on Christmas day. Taking the lift up and looking down at the winter wonderland below us. Wishing each other a Merry Christmas with frosty breaths and rosy cheeks.
How it really was:
Rain. More rain. Even more rain. Skiing in the rain. Slopping through slush puddles. A hot dog for lunch. More sloshing. Take shower, go to sleep. Seven people crammed into one hotel room. Muffin for breakfast. Give up on skiing. Bloody hell. The end.
After we got to the top of the hill, I leisurely skiied down and waited for my group behind me. I was looking down the hill, and suddenly, I felt like I was hit by a truck. As accident survivors usually say, it all happened so fast. One minute I was calmly looking down at the hunny a few meters away, the next minute I was on my back, tangled in a heap of legs, arms, skis, and pain. One of my friends had gotten his ski caught in mine, and then had slammed straight into me. In the process, I wrenched my shoulder and developed a bruise as big as a grapefruit. My left arm now lies rather uselessly and I can't put any weight on it.
So all in all, a not-successful ski trip.