Wahoooo! I went skiing on Saturday. I had a super duper, fantastic time. That is ... after the long moments of terror as I looked down the precipice of the mountain and spotted .... the toe rope.
That right boys and girls I'm a beginner, a newbie, a neophyte. And I love it! I was excited to take a lesson on Saturday but the gods conspired against us and placed us in snails paced traffic up the mountain. When we arrived, I missed it "by that much" and the wheels came off the bus. Jen and Randal offered to take me down the mountain, no problem. But all I could see was me careening over the edge - ass over tea kettle, doing my best Sonny Bono impression. The Kennedy's and McQwethy's would have nothing on me. My lower lip trembled and I could feel my face getting flushed, "oh hell no," I wasn't going down without a lesson.
But there I was, about to mount the lift of the Galloping Goose. My heart was racing and I didn't care how many BLTs (big long turns) I was about to do - THIS would not be good. As we crested the hill I could hear the voice of my instructor, "poles in hand, lift your tips, and lean forward."
Would you believe it worked? I sailed off the lift. Almost a pro and with my new found confidence I headed down the baby green run. Baby steps people, baby steps... My poor neighbor, I had worked myself into a frenzy she must have thought I was looney.
Two times down Shoo Fly and it was time to move on up. That's right folks, we went to the big boys lift, up, up, up we went. I was going to try my hand on Village way. Wish me luck...oh damn I forgot my chapstick!
