Snowy Activities Where You Might Maybe Die - Part 1

Hello and Happy Monday! Do "Monday" and "Happy" really belong in the same sentence? I say yes, yes they do, especially after a great Idaho Winter weekend, and I just had one. Remember when I told you last week that I'd share musings about being mid-life (ish ... maybe I'll make it past 90) and learning to do a whole bunch of stuff, shall we say, late? Well, I didn't mention that one of those things I learned rather late was general hand/eye coordination. Oh, I also never learned to love doing things where you might maybe die. 

This lack of any athletic ability explains a bit more of the big Winter conundrum that has befallen this newbie Idahoan for the past 6 years I've been falling in love with this state. What is the conundrum you say? DOWNHILL SKIING ... my nemesis. And, guess what? This post is not about how I overcame that fear and just enjoyed a fantastic weekend of skiing. I did something else this weekend, but you cannot appreciate hearing about what I did do until I tell you why I didn't do the thing that so many humans, especially humans in Idaho, do. I told you I'd be writing about mid-life musings, and in mid life, a woman learns to accept the things she cannot change. Or, I guess I should say, a mid-life woman chooses her battles and wants to keep her limbs intact for other activities. 

I have only tried downhill skiing approximately four times in my life. Number one and two tries were during vacations to Colorado, back when I lived in Texas. In both cases, I was a bit overweight, out of shape, had never even been near snow activities, and had a healthy dose of fear, but yet, was still in my late 20s, so I was all about figuring it out. The problem was, a lack of options to practice. No downhill skiing in Dallas. So, I'd go on the trip, take a lesson, fall a bunch, and then it was time to go home. 

Those early, non-digital years

Fast-forward to the big move to Idaho. Yea! Winter sports abound. I have lost weight; I am more active. This is gonna be awesome. I am going to get some cute ski clothes, take a lesson again and be so amazing that I will suddenly need to shop for season passes, because squeeee, I have so much to do no matter what the season... where do I sign up? Well, the third time I tried skiing, I was 39 years old and had just moved to Idaho 2 weeks before. I got the clothes, I took the lesson, and I didn't suck! I kind of liked it, but I only practiced on the very baby bunny hills, and then it was time to go home. But, it was a start! And, I wouldn't have to wait years to take another snow vacation to try it again. I live in Idaho --- this can be a regular thing.

The fourth (and last) time I tried downhill skiing was a whole year after the big move, five years ago now. So, I'd been in Idaho for a whole year, had done tons of new things. I was still feeling fit and in decent shape. I had all the pieces in place. I took a beginner, part 2 lesson, enjoyed myself, and decided it was time, time to make the leap and take the lift with the husband (the easy, breezy blue slope skier). As we rode the lift up, I had all kinds of hopes and dreams about our future as a couple that skis together. What the what? I had come full circle. I was going to be a skier! WE were going to ski together. We were going to be that couple that hit the slopes all morning and then relaxes in the lodge in the afternoon telling stories about all the cool "runs" we got in that morning. Oh, the possibilities. My fantasies were interrupted as we stepped off the lift. I made it off with no issues (a real anxiety-inducer for a newbie), and then I skied over to the trail ... and then I looked down the slope. What in the holy flying f*ck?! There was no way this was a green slope. What happened? Where did this lift take me? How could I get back on and ride it down? Thank you very much, but NO THANK YOU. If sweet baby Jesus would just let me down now, I would never again utter the word "ski." I would be willing to divorce from Winter altogether. I would volunteer to save kittens. JUST GET ME DOWN FROM HERE. 

I looked at the husband, and I could tell he saw the fear. He was suddenly wishing for damned sure he'd gone back to skiing with his friends instead of accompanying the wife on her first real run down this new mountain. He was suddenly wishing he had a needle in his eye, basically anything but being responsible for what was in front of him, getting this woman down this slope. I decided I needed to get out of my head and not let the fear overtake me. I had my lesson. I knew what I should do; just do it, right? So, I decided to get started and just not think. I took off. I white knuckled down what felt like a half a mile, but was most likely 20 feet, and then I crashed. Okay, no biggie. I was a little shaky and nervous; this will be fine now that I've gotten that out of my system. Back up on the skis, which was easier to type than do, and I tried again. Maybe 15 feet ... boom. Down again. Okay, shit is getting real now. The husband skis down and utters the words that I'm pretty sure he wishes he'd never said, since I bring it up regularly ... "I'm just not sure how to help you at this point." Oh lord. Now it's really going off. I'm angry, scared and embarrassed. Now what? At first I pleaded with the husband to just take my skis and let me ride down on my ass to the bottom. He wasn't playing ball. Damn him and his nerves of steel and athletic ability. I looked down the hill again, watching all the people get down so gracefully. Why? Why can't I do this? 

As I looked back and forth from the people down below to the hubs above looking at me with "sucks to be you" eyes, I decided that the window of opportunity had come and gone. Fear had taken hold, and this was just not gonna be my thing. Now I just needed to get down this thing and get on a plane to a place where the temperature never reaches below 70 and where no one ever expects me to ski. I got back up again (probably for the sixth time at this point; I have to fast forward this story at some point), and pointed my skis down and rode that hill straight down in probably the worst possible way, with absolutely no plan on how this was going to turn out at the bottom. As I neared the end of this cold nightmare, I saw one of the lift attendants look at me like he'd seen this scene before. And then I saw the lift line and suddenly wondered how in the HELL I was going to stop without crashing into a throng of people. At the second I was contemplating whether I had my health insurance card in my backpack in the car, I briefly looked up and saw one of our friends on the balcony of the lodge. Lord help me; he'd probably been watching this whole thing unfold. Great; an even bigger audience. That little bit of distraction did the trick. Well, it did the trick in that I didn't end this whole experience with anything sprained or broken, and that was certainly no guarantee on how this had gone 10 minutes before. I didn't crash into the throng of folks in line for the lift. By looking up briefly and noticing my friend, I lost my balance just enough and crashed for one last, spectacular time. I'm sure this is one of those things that you remember in a slow motion way, mixed with some stories you've read and movies you've seen, but I swear I slid across the base within feet, maybe even inches, of about 10 different large and heavy items -- steel poles, padded barricades (were those meant for idiots like me?), you name it. But, I did come to a stop, skis still intact on my feet. 

First order of business, thank baby Jesus. I was down on flat ground again and appeared to have all the things still attached to my body that I originally carried up on that death ride. The husband appeared behind me. Thankfully, as I was thanking baby Jesus, I got to miss how elegantly and effortlessly he must have skied down that thing like it was for kindergartners. Even more embarrassed at this debacle, and feeling sure that if I spoke at this moment, a string of curse words in new languages would come out of my mouth when I had no one to blame but myself, I struggled up. Keeping it classy no matter how much my life had just flashed before my eyes seconds ago, I dusted the snow off my pretty red jacket and new ski pants, looked up at the lodge patio, where our friend was still watching, because who could look away at this point. And what did I do? I smiled and waved and gave him a thumbs up. And then I breathed to myself, never f*cking again. 

The hubs and the friend

Stay tuned for my next post to learn how I'm still fighting snowy gravity, but having a bit more fun. 

A re-enactment for your viewing pleasure.

Snowy Activities Where You Might Maybe Die - Part 2

You were laughing as you imagined me flying down that hill, weren't you? Weren't you?? That's okay, I was laughing pretty hard when I wrote it, and, truth be told, once I was settled at the lodge with a warm beverage after "the event," I laughed pretty hard even then. I may have ended with another spectacular crash, but for a brief moment, I was going so fast, I swear those skis might have gone slightly airborne. If you have no idea about this hilarity of which I speak, go back and read part 1 of this post, laugh a little and then come back.

So, where were we? Oh yes, the reason I told you that story in the first place. Well, let's suffice it to say that while I was warming up in the lodge after that fourth (and final) time I went downhill skiing, I decided I better get cracking on the old, "What in the world will Brandi do while Dave goes skiing, because we live so close to skiing, so I better figure out something" plan. I'm happy to report that over the past 5 years since then, I have come up with several wonderful options that I want to share with you. If you find yourself in my shoes, or if you visit during the Winter, you need to know what's what on the old winter activity plan. So, here we go. This is your list of "Snowy Activities Where It's Much Harder to Might Maybe Die."

Snowshoeing

Okay, this one is a favorite. After learning how much I love hiking (which I'll be sure to cover in a future post), I knew that I could certainly give the old hiking in Winter plan a try.

Turns out, it works well for me. I got myself a pair of shoes from Amazon and added snow baskets to my hiking poles, and just like that, I was ready to give it a try. Okay, I guess I should add that I also had to figure out how much to layer clothing-wise. But, that part was easy. I can enjoy playing in the powdery snow, get a workout, look at the beautiful views, and unless I am with my pals and we want to add a little spice to our adventures, I can pretty much stay up on my two feet. I did have a few interesting early trips where my shoe wasn't exactly attached all the way and flew off during an uphill climb, but I learned quickly. And, just a couple of weekends ago, my girls and I decided to go off-trail and slide down a hill to a ravine on our hineys, but that was intentional my friends... there's a difference. I've gotten to snowshoe 5 minutes from my house in the foothills after a nice snowfall, and I've tried out the trails at Bogus, Tamarack and several places up in McCall. There was even a time where some girlfriends who were visiting and I ran into Sled Dogs on a training walk, and that was pretty much amazing. Sometimes the hubby skis, and I shoe, and then we meet up for lunch. Sometimes we shoe together. It's always a good time. Just yesterday, we were shoeing during a quick weekend getaway, while snow fell on us during our trek through a forest, and it was pretty darned magical. 

The views while shoeing up at Bear Basin in McCall

Yea! I'm not falling.

Get your shoe on close to home.

Cross-Country Skiing

Dare I say that I was willing to put on skis again after that fourth and final time? Yes, yes I was. BUT, they were a different kind of ski. After figuring out that I could shoe in the Winter while the hubs did the thing that I wasn't going to do, I decided why not try this sort of kind of cross between the type of skiing he loves where he's going super fast, and the type of skiing I might love where I have to go kind of slow and make it a hard workout? I have only done the "classic" style of cross-country skiing. This is the kind where you see someone glide one foot in front of the other in the "tracks" that are groomed into the trails. I took a lesson up at Bogus Basin and have tried it there, at Ponderosa State Park in McCall and at Bear Basin. I am always very jealous of the folks I see effortlessly glide by on the "skate" skis, but I haven't gone there quite yet. I do love that you can go farther, explore more terrain and still enjoy the views while you're at it. You might fall, but usually you're huffing it and going on your own horsepower. 

The tracks help me feel more secure.

Look! Still not falling.

Tubing

Okay, okay, I get it. I have shared two tips for "Snowy Activities Where It's Much Harder to Might Maybe Die," but where's the thrill? I found a way to get that one added back into the mix with Winter tubing! Speed? Check! Thrills with your friends? Check! Going super fast without having to try? Check! And, if you really try hard enough, you can make it kind of dangerous too, so take that adrenaline junkies! Tubing is the most fun with a group of friends. It's even more fun when you each lock together with four tubes when you apparently aren't supposed to and have enough weight to pick up some real speed and then, when your husband and one friend decides to save themselves and "unlock" from the group, you and the other friend nearly fly into a frozen river at the end. But, we don't have to talk about that. Tubing is fun, it's easy, and you don't have to work that hard, save riding back up the little conveyor belt to the top with your tube to do it all over again. We've had the most fun at The Activity Barn in McCall, but we've also done tubing at Eagle Island State Park right here in town and up at Bogus Basin. 

The tubing runs at The Activity Barn

Getting Spa Treatments at The Shore Lodge

So, although there's no plan for a fifth try at downhill skiing, let me say that I've figured out ways to keep myself busy and have a blast in the snow. And, best of all, when you're finished with all that great activity and laughing and enjoying Idaho's gorgeous winters, it's time to chill and soak those sore muscles at the very best "Snowy Activities Where It's Much Harder to Might Maybe Die" place, The Cove Spa!

The Mother Ship

See you next week when we switch gears and talk about the theme for February we all know and love, the Hallmark Holiday. :)

Why imagine when you can remember?

I remember dreaming and imagining a lot as a kid. I am sure it started with my love of books, and that started so early, I cannot remember much of what sparked it. My imagining wasn't like other kids where I made up worlds or pretended. Instead, I dreamed of places, real places where real stories with real people took place. Where people were walking through their lives right now as I was reading about them.

My family didn't vacation much (read, at all), so I visited these places in my imagination for a very long time. We went on a couple of road trips to New Mexico to visit an uncle, but mostly, I made a mental list of all the places I would someday see, and I do believe those dreams fueled me. Of course, I couldn't really know what those places would be like only imagining them from some words on the page or, gasp, the library. No scrolling of pics and seeing the vast amount of detail available today. Even if I'd had the Internet, there's just no substitute for remembering those places. Meaning, having been there, experienced them, and then re-visiting that time in your memory. 

As I finished high school and prepared for college, my singular goal was to build a life that would support my dreams of seeing places. I had never traveled far, and I wanted to transition my success and grades in high school to where it really counted. Of course I needed and wanted a career that would make for a happy life, but I also needed to build a foundation on which I could pursue dreams of a life like I'd read about in my books. 

See this girl? This was college graduation day in December, 1995. This day only happened after: starting school at East Texas State University, getting married, moving to Dallas for the new husband's work, working full time while juggling school, moving back to Greenville to return to ETSU and take a full load of classes to accelerate graduating, and managing the strain of a long commute for the husband while I studied. And, I did it 4 1/2 years after finishing high school. 

After the ceremony that day, we had gone back to the husband's family's house to open gifts and celebrate. I was reading a card here, one that I'm sure talked about chasing my dreams and fulfilling my potential. I remember this day fondly for so many reasons, most of all, because I feel like I stood at the beginning of a long and winding trail that would take me to some magical summits of those dreams I'd built through all the years that felt like they had gone by so slowly. 

Inside Saint Peter's Basilica

And guess what? I've been on that trail ever since that day, and I cannot even begin to describe the amazing "stops" along the way. If you've read my original blog, you know that my love for travel has only grown through the years, so much so, that the hubs and I re-located to a beautiful place where we can feel forever on vacation. I have seen beautiful places, met amazing people and learned so much history, and I feel like I'll never make it through the list of more I want to do. From seeing the Sistine Chapel on my first trip to Europe, to learning about the pueblos of New Mexico and hiking in Yellowstone, to an awe-inspiring three weeks in Germany, the experiences have all been full of richness and wonder, no matter how big or small. Most of all, I'm grateful that I no longer have to imagine. I spend my time between adventures remembering it all. 

First International touchdown

Celebrations in the Snow

Back in May of last year, I lost some teeth when I bit into a protein bar during a work conference in Las Vegas. Now, I must admit, I led with that to get your attention, and I should add that the "teeth" in question was a bridge that came out thanks to an ooey-gooey RX Bar. But, the outcome was the same. I was missing some teeth and ended up having to visit a dentist off the Strip. I'll just leave the rest of that story for a future post entitled, "Wild Ass Work Trips." Or maybe "If You Lose Your Teeth in Vegas, Head to the Suburbs." 

Back in business

Now, what does this have to do with this blog post, and ummm, snow? I bring up the "teeth" incident, because I'm pretty sure that little experience started a string of not so great luck for the Fox household. Sure, there have been some really good times (and great trips) mixed in there, but there's also been a couple of stomach viruses, our company getting sold twice and our dog passing on. So, suffice it to say, the Foxes NEEDED a getaway. Enter: McCall. Ahhhhh, beautiful McCall. This magical place is magnificent in all seasons, but it has been a particularly wonderful place for winter getaways, which, for the past few years, we've scheduled around Dave's birthday. February was never the greatest month to have a birthday before we moved to Idaho, but since getting here and having snow and snow activities, Dave is making up for lost time. In this case, we decided months ago to book a cabin, so we can could spend a long weekend up in the mountains thanks to a weekend birthday. 

Now the Foxes love a good ritual, so when we head North to McCall, we love to start the trip with a little stopover in Horseshoe Bend for breakfast. What better way to fuel up for the day and anticipate/discuss what lies ahead. In this case, we met some friends for our kick-off breakfast, excitedly discussing the activities and plans we'd meet up for during the long weekend. Then we set out for one of the best parts of the trip, the drive. We've had many visitors comment that the drive up to McCall is just as magical as being in McCall itself, and I couldn't agree more. It's like driving inside a snow globe, and this particular morning didn't disappoint. With our soundtrack in place, the two hours passed by quickly, and I'm pretty sure I barely blinked. 

Once in McCall, we headed to the store for some supplies, having planned to cook in the cabin for a few meals. We usually stay in my favorite of all places, The Shore Lodge (moment of silence), but for this trip, we decided to go with a beautiful, wintry log cabin. As soon as we pulled in, I immediately calculated how I'd become a squatter first and then somehow convince the owners to sell. This place was log cabin dreams. The immense stone fireplace, antler chandelier, gourmet kitchen, log structure and wood detail in every room, jacuzzi, reading nook, and on and on and on. 

Throughout the weekend, I spent many hours perched in front of the fire reading. I even did yoga in front of the hearth, and I visited the jacuzzi enough times to get semi-permanently pruned. Of course, there were a few breaks for snowshoeing for me, skiing for Dave and our friends (and if you don't know why I didn't go, you haven't caught up on this blog). We also did game night and an afternoon movie day. 

As with all previous trips, a wonderful time in McCall always must end. Did the rest and recharge re-set our luck? Time will tell. But, in the meantime, a snowy weekend in McCall is just what any doctor would order to soothe the mind. 

p.s. Happy Birthday to my beloved. Our first birthday together was his 24th, and this was number 52. I have loved every one of our celebrations!