Friday, February 6, 2009

Vermont, Part IV

I've grown a bit tired of this story, but I promised. So here it is.

Last time in Vermont: (In)Sanity Gal finished her first day of "skiing" and did not die.

So two days later we went to another mountain. I had developed a full-blown cold by now, and I really wasn't feeling up to it. Maybe I should've just passed on the ski day, but I didn't want to leave Vermont without trying it one more time.

And so I got out of the car and tromped over to the rental area to get some skis while the babe and our friend J got themselves set up. I was cranky and tired and just wanted to mope about it on the bunny slope. Of course, the babe was all nice and supportive and trying to help me enjoy the day. The nerve.

The plan was to learn to get back up again after falling since that had clearly caused me quite a bit of trouble previously. So, I laid myself down on the snow and flopped up and down pretending that the things the babe was telling me to do were helping me figure out how to get up. It wasn't working. I would watch her do it, seemingly effortlessly. And then I would try. Heeve....heeeve...heeeeve...heeeeeeeeve....Flop. I either slid or fell. It wasn't helping my mood.

Our friend J had been checking out one of the slopes to see if it was going to work for me. Nobody wanted a repeat of my prior venture onto the big slopes. I was thinking I might not want any venture at all. But success can do amazing things. And J was the key to my success at that particular moment. I don't think I could tell you right now how she taught me how to get up. But somehow she did; something about the way she described it made sense. And howdy doody whaddayaknow, I getting up off the ground. Fall. Get up. Fall. Get up. Fall. Get up. Over and over again. It was amazing!

I kind of wanted to just stay on the bunny slope and fall and get up over and over again.

That's a lie. Duh. I was pumped about my newfound skill and itching to get on a slope again.

And that's what I did. Right after I fell flat on my back while getting off the chair lift. Something about not having my skis on the ground when the chair moved from under my butt. Lesson learned.

I'm delighted to tell you that the rest of the story was fairly uneventful. The babe and J skiied one in front and one behind while I pizza slice turned my way down that giant, beautiful slope. It was gorgeous and amazing. Sliding over the snow was such a delightful feeling. And I was so so so very proud of myself. One of my favorite ways to be. ;)

I was so happy, in fact, that I went up and did it a second time. By. My. Self.

I left Vermont a skiier. Or at least a pizza slice turner.

Hopefully I'll do it again soon, lest I forget how to do it and have to do this whole story all over again.


:)Ibti said...

Ah, my brave friend, you are an inspiration to the chicken-hearted among us (me). My own first ski experience was in high school and I didn't have such kind instructors. No. I had been given a two-minute primer on "the snow plow" and put on a lift. Does thd snow plow work when you are going more than 3 miles per hour, you might wonder. No, it doesn't. But I sure as heck tried. All day. And I, too, did one of those cartoon-like, arm-flailing descents from the lift, ending up on my back. I emerged from the slopes at the end of the day vowing to never strap on a ski again. (I did, actually, try skiing a few more times, due to a combination of stubbornness, feeling sheepish, and peer pressure, but ultimately decided it is not my bag.) I hope you continue to learn and love skiing. For my part, I will stick to biking for my heart-pounding, near-death adrenaline rush. ;)

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