Coordination is Not My Strong Suit
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Ohmygod.
Work is really busy.
Also, life is busy. I went on a vacation! A real, true vacation! As in, not to visit my parents or attend a wedding!
I went to Colorado and I skied for the first time in 12 years. Which, though I couldn’t wait to get there, had me in a full-on freak-out state for the week leading up to the trip.
I am not the most coordinated person. I fall over standing up. My college housemates would sometimes just watch me and laugh, because I would constantly knock into things and fall over for no real reason. So the whole going-to-stay-with-a-former-coworker-and-her-new-husband-to-ski-for-the-first-time-in-over-a-decade was a little daunting.
I was envisioning a variety of scenarios, but I’ll just share with you the following ones, which received the most detailed, sick imaginings on my flight west:
1) I panic at the top of a hill and spend hours talking myself down (this happened once—I was 10, and my friend Nelson led me to the top of Golden Eagle, which was not just a black diamond but a DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND. I still hold this against him. That time, I located a ski patrol member and she kindly brought me down, and Nelson got an earful from both our mothers afterwards. Holy Mother of God, that was terrifying.) Anyhoo, given the lapse in time since I last hit the slopes, I was waiting for this to happen atop either a beginner or intermediate slope, so that not only would it be supremely annoying to my companions but also utterly mortifying.
2) I no longer remember how to ski at all, and I wind up in ski school for two days. This more for the embarassment factor than anything else.
3) I fall and break something.
4) I careen out of control, smack into a tree, and break something (a la Arnold Schwarzenegger).
5) I careen out of control, smack into a tree, and die (a la Sonny Bono).
6) Another skier or snowboarder smacks into me and either maims or kills me.
7) Worst case: I smack into another skier or boarder and either maim or kill them.
Verdict: Skiing really is like riding a bike. I am happy to report that none of the preceding scenarios occurred. I graduated from beginner to intermediate slopes after my first run on my first day. And, to make things even better, I only had one fall the whole time!
It was in the café, while I was getting hot chocolate the afternoon of our first day on the mountain.
I went down so hard that the sound quite literally stopped all movement in the room for a good 30 seconds. I was fine, just mortified. (I trust that anyone that has ever worn ski boots will understand how easily this can happen and not make fun of me.)
I’ve got the ski bug again. This is an expensive habit. I’m therefore looking for friend with either a home in the mountains or access to a home in the mountains. I will provide the entertainment. As in you can watch me fall on my ass regularly. Oh! And, like my friend’s husband, when I pull on my old-school ski pants (it’s been 12 years, my gear is retro, okay?), you too can point at me, start laughing, and inform me between gasps that I kind of look like Napoleon Dynamite. (I know that sounds mean, but it wasn’t. It was just hysterically funny and had me crying with laughter pre-skiing.) And I’m a good cook, so I’ll make dinner every night. In fact, made a killer pork tenderloin last night that would be just fabulous for an apres-ski dinner.
Any takers? Hellooooooooooo? Anyone?
Work is really busy.
Also, life is busy. I went on a vacation! A real, true vacation! As in, not to visit my parents or attend a wedding!
I went to Colorado and I skied for the first time in 12 years. Which, though I couldn’t wait to get there, had me in a full-on freak-out state for the week leading up to the trip.
I am not the most coordinated person. I fall over standing up. My college housemates would sometimes just watch me and laugh, because I would constantly knock into things and fall over for no real reason. So the whole going-to-stay-with-a-former-coworker-and-her-new-husband-to-ski-for-the-first-time-in-over-a-decade was a little daunting.
I was envisioning a variety of scenarios, but I’ll just share with you the following ones, which received the most detailed, sick imaginings on my flight west:
1) I panic at the top of a hill and spend hours talking myself down (this happened once—I was 10, and my friend Nelson led me to the top of Golden Eagle, which was not just a black diamond but a DOUBLE BLACK DIAMOND. I still hold this against him. That time, I located a ski patrol member and she kindly brought me down, and Nelson got an earful from both our mothers afterwards. Holy Mother of God, that was terrifying.) Anyhoo, given the lapse in time since I last hit the slopes, I was waiting for this to happen atop either a beginner or intermediate slope, so that not only would it be supremely annoying to my companions but also utterly mortifying.
2) I no longer remember how to ski at all, and I wind up in ski school for two days. This more for the embarassment factor than anything else.
3) I fall and break something.
4) I careen out of control, smack into a tree, and break something (a la Arnold Schwarzenegger).
5) I careen out of control, smack into a tree, and die (a la Sonny Bono).
6) Another skier or snowboarder smacks into me and either maims or kills me.
7) Worst case: I smack into another skier or boarder and either maim or kill them.
Verdict: Skiing really is like riding a bike. I am happy to report that none of the preceding scenarios occurred. I graduated from beginner to intermediate slopes after my first run on my first day. And, to make things even better, I only had one fall the whole time!
It was in the café, while I was getting hot chocolate the afternoon of our first day on the mountain.
I went down so hard that the sound quite literally stopped all movement in the room for a good 30 seconds. I was fine, just mortified. (I trust that anyone that has ever worn ski boots will understand how easily this can happen and not make fun of me.)
I’ve got the ski bug again. This is an expensive habit. I’m therefore looking for friend with either a home in the mountains or access to a home in the mountains. I will provide the entertainment. As in you can watch me fall on my ass regularly. Oh! And, like my friend’s husband, when I pull on my old-school ski pants (it’s been 12 years, my gear is retro, okay?), you too can point at me, start laughing, and inform me between gasps that I kind of look like Napoleon Dynamite. (I know that sounds mean, but it wasn’t. It was just hysterically funny and had me crying with laughter pre-skiing.) And I’m a good cook, so I’ll make dinner every night. In fact, made a killer pork tenderloin last night that would be just fabulous for an apres-ski dinner.
Any takers? Hellooooooooooo? Anyone?
This entry was posted
on Thursday, February 01, 2007 at 10:39 AM.
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