Note:

This blog is now retired. My new site is at: Predictably Irrational.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

S'now Life for Me

I saw this a long time ago but only now do I remember posting:



This is 100% me. I do not have any desire to do any kind of snow activity. But I did try...

Many moons ago, me, Tim, CJ and baby MiMi took a trip to the mountains of NC. It was somewhere SW of Asheville but I can't remember the resort name to this day. It's not one of the resorts I hear many of my skiing friends go to.

I decided, for whatever reason, to sign me and CJ up for ski lessons. I'm an island girl, grew up in the Philippines, spent most of my life by the beach: Florida, Guam, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Nowhere did I spend any time growing up around snow. But I decided it must be fun, since so many people I knew did it.

What I found was I was more panicked about CJ sliding down that bunny hill than me, and *I* was not feeling 100% safe and comfortable up there. Within the first ten minutes of "lessons", I knew I didn't want to be there and most certainly, wanted CJ off so I could at least concentrate on my own doom.

She ended up fulfilling my wish and headed off to her dad, while I stayed to complete my lesson. Which included going to the top of the bunny hill and skiing down. At this point, I was done. I wanted nothing more than to NOT ski down the stupid hill. But I wanted to show my bravery and commitment. So my first horrific endeavor was to hold on to a big ass rope, which pulled me up to the top of that hill. Holy, mother of buddha, was I scared shitless. I prayed for my skis to fit in the ruts that were already made by the many 5 year olds before me. I concentrated, with my dear life, on making sure my skis stayed put. My heart pounded with dread. What happens if I fall here? I mean, literally, I had no idea what would happen to me. Would I slide down? Would I be trampled on by the toddlers behind me?

But I made it to the top and for someone like me, downhill looked more horrific than the ruts I concentrated on going up. How do I *not* ski downhill and get off this mountain of a lump? Why the fudge am I doing this again? How stupid am I?

So I knew, the only way down was to start going down. If I fell, I fell. That sounds a lot calmer than I felt: DO NOT FALL. I did not want to fall because 1) I knew I would hurt myself, 2) I could hurt the kids around me and 3) how the hell was I going to get back up?

All I wanted to do was get this shit over with. I knew that I was done and even though skiing was never, ever on my bucket list, I was done forever. No more ski resort for me.

I remember the 16 year old instructor saying that if my skis were pointed together, it would reduce my speed. So that's what I did: I think I sped down that bunny slope at approximately 0.5 mph, which was still too fast for me. I had my feet planted and that's all I was going to do, to get down that hill. My only other panic was to make sure no 3 year old got in front of me with their fancy-shmancy moves (show offs!).

The teen-instructor came by, urging me to widen my stance so I could go faster. I think I was pretty gruff in my response: I'M FINE. THIS IS AS FAST AS I WANT TO GO.

Once at the bottom, I think it was pretty dark by then (JK), I quickly got the skis off and told Tim, I'm ready to get out of this shit.

Yeah. Not for me. None of it. I'm not interested in piling on ten layers of clothes, wearing big ass gloves where I can't feel any way to maneuver anything with my hands, then getting out into the frigid cold, with more frigid snow. I think it's great that you folks that love this sport so much, love it (not really).

But I'm with Key & Peele on the whole snow-sport thing.

No comments:

Post a Comment