As previously mentioned, I don’t do well in the cold. I don’t like to be cold nor do I like snow. I don’t like having to put on layer upon layer only to remove all of it when I enter a building just to put it back on again when I leave. I don’t like how my hands dry out and crack and I don’t like how my lips chap. And I don’t like how I’m more electrically charged and get shocked everytime I touch anything that remotely resembles metal. But I really learned I wasn’t cut out for winter years ago when I went snow skiiing for the first time.
It was a beautiful day. Crystal blue, clear skies. No wind. Tons of sun. I was about 15 years old visiting my sisters in Utah during my spring break. So the three of us along with my brother in-law, decided to go snow skiing for the day. I was the only newby of the group and all seemed excited to watch me try it out (they probably weren’t but that’s my version anyway). We get to the slopes and divided up for the lifts. I went with my brother in-law because he was the most experienced and my sisters were behind us. While I’m not completely sure of the details, I do know that one of my sisters somehow missed the lift and I believe had to have the operator stop it so she could get on. That should have been a sign that what was to come would not be smooth sailing.
We get off the lift and so far I’m doing great. No problems on or off and I’m thinking there’s nothing to this whole skiing thing. I would like to insert that at no time did anyone feel the need to teach me anything about the dynamics of skiing or rather the do’s and don’ts. And I, at 15 years of age and never having been skiing before, had no clue that I should even ask. So we started off. To me it seemed like my sister’s couldn’t even go 10 feet before one of them fell over. I on the other hand had yet to fall and was doing quite well in fact. We went around the first turn and all continued well. It was pretty flat so there wasn’t a lot of momentum building at that point. We got around the first turn and started down the actual slope. Speed began to increase. I shot a look of panic at my brother in-law who kept saying, “Don’t worry. You’re doing great.”
By now my sister’s were a distant memory and my brother in-law was becoming one. I was flying. I might have appreciated the incredible rush of going warp speed down the side of a mountain on two plastic sticks if it weren’t for the fact that I was freaking out! And to make matters worse, snowboarders kept shooting out from the trees and little five years whizzed past like I was standing still.
I was going so fast that my brother in-law couldn’t catch up with me. And his encouraging words were becoming more faint as each mili-second went by. So I did what I thought was the safest thing and I crouched down. That was stupid. Naturally, it just made me go faster. A lot faster. But I was too terrified to attempt to stand back up and besides I was too busy cursing like a sailor to think straight. And then I saw it. The bottom of the mountain where everyone was slowing down. But not me. There was nothing slow about what I was doing and I really started to panic. So I did the only thing I thought I could possibly do and I flung myself on the ground. And while my poles went in different directions and one of the ski’s flew off I was at least stationary and conscious and from what I could tell there was no blood. And that’s really all I cared about at that point.
Eventually I reunited with my brother in-law and sisters and guess what? I went right back up that mountain and tried again. And you wouldn’t believe that after that experience no one said anything to me about the techniques of skiing. And wouldn’t you know that I shot down that stupid mountain at warp speed again! It pretty much ended in the same way with me flinging myself to the ground to stop. And though my first skiing experience happened 13 years ago I’ve never had the desire to go back and never have.