I thought I’d better check in, in case any of you thought I’d died during ski lessons.
I did not die!
I thought maybe I could, though. It was with much trepidation that I stepped onto the gondola, for lesson #1. I couldn’t help but notice I was amongst the HAVES (as opposed to the have-nots, which can’t go skiing because it is stupidly expensive). I am a HAVE then, that’s lucky! (Note to self, appreciate this, everyday. Remember the times you had to sell things to make rent. This is not one of those times.) With these HAVES, it’s also obvious that one must distinguish themselves, and to REALLY HAVE you need super decked out gear, with embossed goggles and titanium tipped skis, matching ultra-wear, and in the case of one teenager, a helmet mounted camera.
I distinguish myself by looking insane. This is the purpose of my outfit. You will see me coming down the mountain. I have hot pink pants and a men’s black and teal patterned ski jacket, a junior ski helmet (I have a pea head) and ancient peach-toned goggles. One look and you know “this person is obviously nuts and probably can’t ski very well. I should move.”
Safety, Check!
I met with a lithe young thing from Eastern Europe, who put me through the paces. We mastered the bunny hills. She showed me the obvious things that people do when they forget what they should be doing.
“People go down the Cut, thinking it’s an easy run,” she tells me. I nod.
“Then they fall down and smash into the snow bank because they can’t control their speed, take off their skis and walk down!” She laughs.
“Heh heh heh! I laugh with her. “I can see how that would happen!”
I do not tell her about the ass skiing.
I don’t need to, turns out I am good! She gave me directions; I did them, there was some inherent body knowledge. After two hours my thighs were burning, but she told me I was ready for the Cut, the “green” run. I must have been smiling all the way back to the gondola. A young woman passed me and smiled back.
“Life is goooooooooooooooddddd,” she said.
“Yeah, Life is goooooooooooooooodddddd!” I answer, exchanging a verbal handshake.
Lesson #2.
I meet with a young instructor (they are all young, really) and an Asian man my age who speaks barely any English. We are going down the Cut today. The man, as well as he can, asks how to stop if his “pizza” isn’t working. The instructor tries to explain, turn back up the hill. He tries to explain again. I intervene.
“Do a banana,” I say, making a curved motion with my hand. He smiles. This makes sense to him. I nunderstand why we use food to name things. We all “get” food. We embark on our first run.
Amazing! I am not falling! I am having fun, mostly due to heavy fog. I can’t see the bottom of the mountain, or anything really, so I just ski to a turn, ski to a turn, and suddenly I am at the bottom. Whoo hoo! We do another run, with trees. I miss all of them. Amazing! I learn to control my speed. We do a much harder run. I remember a T.V. commercial about feeling smarter when you stay at a Holiday Inn.
“I stayed at a Holiday Inn last night, and now I can ski down mountains!”
I pretend I am on ESPN; that I am a fearless racer. I bend my skis and turn my hands like I’ve been doing this forever. And somehow, I do not fall, the whole time.
My friend falls a lot, saying “No problem! No problem!” as he gets back to his feet. I admire him, as I would have been shouting “PROBLEM HERE!”
This is a new feeling for me. I can’t think of what the emotion might be called, but it has something to do with “feeling not last, not the worst, not small” and it has nothing to do with the guy falling. It was just me and the snow and my almost exploding thigh muscles. Serendipity…that is close.
I high-five my ski buddy as we ride the chair lift back to the top. Again, I am smiling like I have just fallen in love, the kind of smiling you cannot control, even if you wanted to.