It’s All Downhill From Here

When my husband and I were first married he offered to take me skiing.  I was rather nervous about going but I agreed to give it a try.  In an effort to calm my nerves I thought maybe a little retail therapy might be in order.  Possibly some nice new ski bibs with a matching coat and gloves would do the trick.  At the sporting goods store, I got everything I thought I might need and even picked up an adorable pair of hand-crafted, hammered-metal earrings.  These would actually prove to be a poor choice for a ski trip but we’ll get into that later.

The day of the trip finally arrived and we loaded our gear into the car.   On the drive to Mad River Mountain, I found myself daydreaming about the adventure ahead.   I envisioned us arriving at a cozy ski lodge as fresh snow fell from the sky.  In my mind, I saw people laughing and holding hands while rosy-cheeked children lightheartedly threw snowballs at one another.  I saw myself gliding effortlessly down the mountainside and then making a spectacular stop that would send a snow shower cascading over the onlookers.  I smiled to myself as I thought about how I would tug off my new toboggan hat and then toss my long blonde hair over my shoulders.

I was shaken out of my daydream by the sound of snow crunching beneath our tires on Snow Valley Road.  The sun was shining brightly off the snow-covered face of the mountain where the slopes were dotted with skiers. Together we made our way over to get our lift tickets and equipment.  Since I had never skied before we headed directly to the “bunny hill” to practice first.

Imagine my surprise when I found out there was no chair lift there.  The only way to the top of the bunny hill was to grab onto a rope tow.  This was basically a rope pulley that would drag you, while standing in your skis, to the top of the hill.  I watched as my husband deftly grabbed the rope and glided effortlessly up the hill.  He made it look so easy.  I grabbed the rope next.  Immediately, the rope jerked me forward and began dragging me up the hill while my left ski went left and my right ski went right.  I did my best to keep my feet together while I clung to the rope for dear life.

Finally, at the top of the hill, I freed myself from the contraption and felt a pit in my stomach as I realized that what goes up must come down.  Once again my dear husband was there to help me and give instructions.  I nodded that I understood the concept of skiing it was just the execution I was having trouble with.  I peered down what I believe was wildly mislabeled as a bunny hill.  The memory of the film footage from ABC’s Wide World of Sports came to mind from my childhood.  I could just hear the announcers deep voice asserting “… the agony of defeat,” and recalled the vision of the Slovenian ski jumper who crashed into a heap on the ground at the beginning of every episode. 

I said none of this, however, to my husband as I gave him a weak smile.  I swallowed hard, pointed my skis downward and immediately knew that I had made a mistake.  I was headed straight down the middle of the hill and going way too fast!  I saw my life flash before my eyes.  I quickly turned and skied sideways to the edge of the hill and literally hugged the first tree I could get to.

My husband skied over to make sure I was alright.  I assured him that I was fine and only needed to catch my breath.  With some effort, I was able to turn around and then ski in a perfect horizontal line back across the hill.  I continued in a zig-zag fashion back and forth, sometimes even defying gravity and actually skiing uphill!  It was a tedious and grueling process and I began to wonder why so many people loved this sport. 

Eventually, some thirty or so minutes later I finally made it to the bottom of the bunny hill where I collapsed into a heap on the ground.   I was sweating profusely so I tugged off my new toboggan hat to allow my hair to flow across my shoulders.  Instead, long strands of matted locks clung to my reddened face.  I also realized at that moment that my new hammered-metal earrings were frozen to my ears!  Literally. Frozen. To. My. Ears.  I guess I hadn’t noticed since I had lost feeling in them and all of my extremities some twenty minutes earlier.   As I sat there helpless, chest heaving, a small rosy-cheeked child skied up to me and asked if I needed any help.  I swiped viciously at the kid with my ski pole but unfortunately missed him.

My supportive husband told me on the ride home that I would do better next time.  The man deserves a medal for putting up with me for sure.  In my mind, the next time, I would remain seated in the comfy, cozy ski lodge.  It is a much better place for tossing my long blonde hair over my shoulders anyway.