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