Hotfessional wrote last week about skiing, which reminded me that this is not a topic we’ve covered here at Jen on the Edge. Today, however, we’re plunging in (so to speak).
When Pete and I were young and thin and childless, we took up skiing. Actually, he started and then brought me into it. You’d probably never suspect it about him, but Pete is one of those lucky bastards people who is a natural at skiing. He never skied as a kid or even in college, but the first time he went as an adult, he strapped on his skis and gently schussed down the mountain.
I, on the other hand, was not a natural at skiing.
Pete had already been a few times by the time I decided to join in on the torture fun, but we still agreed that, for the sake of our marriage, I would take my lessons not from my husband, but instead from the ski instructors on the bunny slope. Meanwhile, Pete went off and attacked large dangerous ski slopes.
[Seriously, after only a few times on skis, Pete was already hitting the black diamonds or pink hearts or orange stars or green clovers or whatever it is that the advanced-skiers-only slopes are called.]
For some reason, it never occurred to me that skiing wouldn’t be a breeze, so I jauntily strapped on my skis and…
… promptly fell over.
Luckily, I had already been instructed on how to get up, so I flipped over onto my stomach and pushed myself upright.
And then fell over again.
And again.
And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
And so forth.
I fell, no exaggeration, dozens and dozens of times in the next two hours. In fact, it took me most of that time to traverse only half the distance of the bunny slope, which was approximately 100 yards or so.
Pete came to check on me after an hour and found his wife in a state quite unlike he’d ever seen before. I was beyond upset and was closing in on total meltdown. I was cursing furiously. Even Pete, who was in a fraternity in college, thought his ears might shrivel from the onslaught of obscene that was spewing from my mouth, along with the tears from my eyes and the frozen-ish snot from my nose.
He decided to help me along. Here’s how it went:
I’d get up, cussing, grit my teeth, push forward, and fall after going 1-3 feet, whereupon I’d lie in the snow for a moment or two in order to wait patiently to die gather the strength to continue this fool’s errand. Then I’d get up and start the whole process again.
At some point after two hours, I managed to go the vast distance of five feet without falling. Then I went ten feet. Then longer and longer. The further I went, the less I cussed. Eventually, I stopped crying too. And, eventually, I made it to the end of the bunny slope, where I had to get on a chair lift for the first time ever (HATE those) and go back to the top. Once at the top, Pete guided me down the slope and I fell fewer than a dozen times. The next time down, I fell only a couple of times. After that, I continued to improve. I even managed one run when I didn’t fall at all.
We were skiing at night, so the resort closed soon after that, but it was probably just as well, as I was utterly exhausted. I had had what was mostly a craptastic time and my body hurt like hell, but I was actually willing to try skiing again.
And I did.
I eventually got pretty good, although I never enjoyed throwing myself over the edge of mountains the way that Pete did. Usually I just hit the easy slopes and went for more gentle trips down the mountain.
All of our skiing was on the East Coast. Finally, in 1997, we went to New Mexico in November and skied at Taos on Thanksgiving Day.
Oh people, no one had told me that there is a BIG DIFFERENCE between East Coast skiing and Western skiing. The West has all those big mountains and all that natural snow. Snow that will actually fall from the sky while you’re skiing.
At Taos, while on our first ride up on the ski lift, one of my rented skis dropped right off my boot. Plop. So when we got to the top, I couldn’t do anything. One of the ski patrol people called down the mountain and someone grabbed my ski for me and Pete offered to ski down and get it for me.
[I thought he was being nice, but in reality, he was sneaking in a run while on his mission of mercy.]
In the meantime, I stood near the top of the ski lift because, really, what could I do with only one ski? It was snowing hard and I was wearing my flimsy little East Coast ski jacket. The snow went right down my collar and melted on my neck. I was miserable and then more miserable and then more miserable. This went on for a solid 45 minutes.
In the midst of my misery, I watched a man with NO LEGS get off the chair lift and then schuss down the mountain on his bitchin’ mono-ski-contraption. When I saw that, I realized that being cold had nothing on having no legs and that I should really quit my whining. Plus, I needed to conserve my energy in order to fight off hypothermia.
Then Pete showed up with my ski and we hit the trails. The snow kept falling and falling and falling and falling and falling. Apparently, that’s what happens in those fancy western ski resorts. After a few hours, we had to call it quits. We were utterly frozen and could barely see. When we got back to our car, there was NINE INCHES of fresh powder on it.
As we drove to our hotel, we chattered happily about how much fun western skiing was and how we were surely going to do it again. I had improved a lot, so we decided that it was time for me to go up a size in skis. Pete bought me a used set for Christmas.
And then I got pregnant a couple weeks later and I haven’t been skiing since then and now am now no longer interested in it. The end.
What about you people? Any of you skiers?
We used to go to something called Midnight Madness. It was skiing from midnight to 4 a.m. and was a blast (this was when I was in high school). We’d ski pretty much every weekend — Friday and Saturday.
Then, we went on a skiing for my senior trip. I was going down a hill that I’d gone down a million times, lost my balance and started to go over towards the treeline. I hit a pipe, flipped over it, skidded on my face halfway down the hill and rammed into a tree. I tore most of the skin off my face, one of my skiis came off and lodged under my ribs and I tore the cartilage off most of my ribs and bruised my spleen. I eventually had to have my gallbladder out because it got gang green from being hit by the ski. The doctor said he wasn’t sure how I was still alive.
Needless to say, I haven’t been skiing since – that was 15 years ago.
“I was sad because I had no ski, then I saw a man who had no legs. But he had a ski. Bastard.”
I think you may have inspired a blog post of my own, because it would be rude to hog all your comment space with my story.
And Pete rules! His comment is responsible for my shirt being in the dirty laundry basket with coffee stains.
I spent the first 49 years of my life living 4 hours from New Hampshire and Vermont.
I had no desire to ski. I hate snow, ice, cold, wind and falling down.
I knew I would be the person that would find a tree stump buried 8 feet under the snow, trip over it and break my leg in 4 places.
Pete also made me snort my coffee.
Nope not a skier. Hahaha and I really don’t think I would ask Albert to do it. He would make some kind of snide remark about skiing not being what he does.
But I’m all for sledding.
My idea of a ski vacation is to drink irish coffee by the fireplace at the lodge while everyone else is on the slopes.
Pregnant!! Yes!
I started throwing up the day after I skied the first time – we named her Leah – and I’ve always suspected the skiing caused her.
And my skiing rhythm is similar to yours – start, pick up speed, get scared and fall, start over. Not so much fun.
Jenny
I had the same starting experience that you did, Jen, but it was in the sixth grade, on the first of 6 after-school lessons that my parents paid a lot of $$ for (that we really didn’t have). I was on ancient, borrowed skis and boots that were too big for me and spent the entire 2 hour lesson on my ass. I hated every minute of it.
But knowing that I *had* to finish out my lessons, I finally started spending more time vertical than horizontal. My parents decided to get my sister and I skis that actually fit us the next year and I never looked back.
I’m only a mediocre skier now, but I do love it. My husband started as an adult, and can hold his own as long as its not too crazy fast. Thoughtful is a boarder and Smiles is SO not interested that the only way I can get him on skis is x-country. I’ll take it!
My ex grew up on skis and I thought it would be one of those things I’d learn by marrying him. Ha! The man just doesn’t share….ANYway, I still haven’t skiied, but I think I’d like it. I like speed. I’ve forced him to take the kids but only the youngest likes it. But they all learned pretty easily, I guess cuz they’re young. And you’re right, he says the skiing out west is incredible. His brother got dropped out of a helicopter in Switzerland to ski down; apparently that is an uber-cool ski thing to do. Sounds a little crazy to me…
I love waterskiing but then I don’t waterski over waterfalls. My husband loves downhill snow skiing and I have gone with him, plenty of times. But I’ve never gotten good. My kids are all good. There’s just something about looking down the side of a cliff and letting myself soar down it that seems a little frightening to me.
The skis and I share a mutual respect. I leave them in the shop and I keep my crappy knees where they belong – with the caps facing forward.
We never did anything the easy or fun way growing up…I was tortured by cross country ski trips that lasted endless hours and did not involve a lodge with cocoa at the end. I wanted nothing more than to schuss down mountains, but was stuck skiing in a straight line.
As a young adult, I enjoyed skiing but would never claim to be any good. I came dangerously close to hitting the lodge once, and that pretty much did me in. I like my skin.
What the… what kind of wimpy-ass hills do you HAVE on the East coast? Pfft. Lame.
I am not a good skier by any means, but I don’t care. I love going. I love flying down the mountain. I don’t even mind falling most of the time. Last year I fell on an apple in my backpack and that bruise hurt for a month. I usually go with my best friend, and we only go once a year because it’s so expensive. We laugh at each other the entire time. We try black diamonds just so we can laugh at each other. This is why we fall so much, because we are laughing too hard to stand up.
Last year, we were on the highest point of the ski lift and I dropped my camera. We caught it on our skis and kept trying to use our ski poles to pick it up, but we were laughing so hard it took forever. The camera was saved, but we came to the realization that we could solve our problems a lot faster if we’d stop laughing at them first.
I’m going skiing again with her in March. I can’t wait!
Not since I was 20.
Can’t stop giggling at the ‘Lucky Charms’ reference….now I’m going to go read the rest of the post. It’s always a happy thing to see you pop up in my reader!!
Me? Skiing? I see you the ski lift and raise you one brand-spanking-new uber-cool pink and yellow ski mittens, torn completely to shreds from the FIRST time I used the tow rope.
I can cross-country.
I’ve never skied and never will. Three broken legs and two broken arms are quite enough.
Oh, my, NO. I’m way too accident-prone and lazy to ski. I have been wanting to take up snow-shoeing. I convinced Tom that for Christmas next year, we’re all getting snow-shoes. That’s much more my speed.
This post is, once again, HILARIOUS to me! And it hits home…my husband swishing and skiing so beautifully…me JUST LIKE A GOOFY CARTOON CLIP!! I mean just like it.
Me –on the trails baby (why even go to an icy edge of a mountain I say?)
Him–see ya babe–swish swish…
Couldn’t care less if i ever go skiing again, to be honest.
My whole family are skiers, my parents even bought a cabin (after I went to college) but I have bad knees and the one time I tried I ended up in the ER getting fluid drained from my knee caps.
Oh fantastic! Here’s my story for you… I skied in high school. And if you think your hills are small, try the ones in Wisconsin. Seriously – it’s a landfill. But anyway. My friends (who were seasoned skiers) convinced me to skip the lessons. That was no problem. I did well, mastering the bunny hill in no time, then the intermediate hill. But then we got on the wrong lift. To the top of the hill with the moguls. Uh…I was standing there trying to figure out a way down that would avoid said moguls when some @$$hole lent me a hand. Via a shove to the back. $$$ over teakettle I went. Skis in every which direction. The guy followed after, apologized profusely while gathering all my stuff and then slowly guiding me to the bottom. Bit late for chivalry. I still loved skiing but had to give it up in college due to my knees. Just not worth the pain the next week.
My husband loved to ski. I say that past tense because he pretty much gave it up upon marrying a non-skier. I feel bad about that. We have one friend who does a heli-skiing trip every year in Canada and my boss loves to mountaineer (i.e. out of bounds skiing). They’re nuts. Oh, and one friend raves about east coast skiing. He lives in Death Valley right now and has skied the dunes the big dork.
Nope.
1. I don’t see the point of paying $900 to wear clothes that make me look fat and still be cold and then end up with altitude sickness after my first time up the mountain. No, they do not refund lift tickets.
And then sleep in the loft over one of the bedrooms where the couple who has been married for 20 years is staying (group trip) still has to have sex EVERY NIGHT OF THE TRIP and isn’t subtle about it. “Oh, we thought we were being quiet!” she’ll giggle later. Right. Did you forget the part that there was SOMEONE ELSE IN THE ROOM with you?
2. I was leaving my weights class as Zumba was about to start and a laughing woman with no arms and no legs breezed in in her wheelchair. To the Zumba class. How does someone dance when she has no arms or legs? More power to her, baby. And she made me even madder at my whiney, pity-party in-laws who absolutely refuse to be happy. Not that this woman probably doesn’t have her moments, but she was making the best of what she has, which is more than some people I know.
You described my first time on skis perfectly.
I learned to ski before I learned to ride a bike – In Vermont and Massachusetts! When we moved to Denver? I thought I’d died and gone to heaven!
Yep, we’re definitely twins separated at birth. I downhill ski about as well as I speak Chinese.
I went skiing a few times when I was really little with my parents. They used to go a lot before I was born. But that was it. I wish I could ski though. Something about the wind rushing by seems really nice.
I’ve only been skiing once. In IL. On the “hills” that are old trash dumps that they turn into ski hills in the winter.
I fell every time. I couldn’t figure out how to stop, so the only option was to fall down at the end of the hill, every time.
It’s basically why I’ve never gone skiing again.
Although, we cross country skied in high school and I was good at that, surprisingly.