You can't teach a cold dog new tricks - Part I

My parents aren't sporty people.  Growing up, our equivalent of "the big game" was a weekend of Skate Canada.  Our calendar was cleared if it was the World Figure Skating Championships...and the Winter Olympics were mostly spent watching...you guessed it...skating.

So it isn't really surprising that they never took me skiing.  This has never been an issue.  I'm sure there are people the world over who don't ski.  However, my friends are not these people.  They all ski.  Their kids all ski.  In fact, every winter there is a huge excursion to Mt. Washington where they rent a chalet and 50 of them squish in there for the weekend and they ski...all weekend.

I have never joined them, which is unusual for me because I don't like missing a party.  However, there are several things that have never appealed to me about skiing:

1. This activity generally takes place in the snow
2. Snow is very cold
3. It is expensive
4. People are always breaking bones when they ski
5. Everything is at an angle

My kids are the ones who pushed us to go up and give it a try.  We relented, and last year we made our first trek up to the mountain.  The four of us took a snow boarding lesson on the first morning.  I had heard that perhaps skiing is an easier sport to start with.  I ignored this advice and pictured myself on my snowboard, looking like the female Shawn White...taking to it quickly and impressing my instructor so much that he offered to take me on as his apprentice, with an eye to the 2014 Olympics. 

I should have listened to the advice. 

The first morning we were there we got our equipment and headed out to the hill.  Our instructor had us strap one foot to the board and start to get a feel for things.  This went ok.  A couple of us landed on our butts...but it was easy enough to pop back up and try again.  Then we strapped in our second foot.  This is where things started to go badly.  I watched as my husband and kids set off down the hill...looking shaky but doing it, none the less.  I remained on my bum.  I seemed unable to stand up.  How did everyone else get on their feet?  The instructor came and helped me up.  Once standing, I did ok.  I was making my way down the hill...following my family who were now distant specks.  I fell again.  Again I was powerless to move.   Again I was helped up by my instructor. 

Finally we were reunited with my family and we sat in the snow to receive our next instruction.  To be honest...it was all an auditory blur...because I watched in awe as all three members of my family stood up; ready to tackle the next challenge.  I remained seated.

After being helped up by our instructor once again, I struggled along as we made our way down the bunny hill.  Once we reached the bottom I felt pride...I had done it!  I had successfully descended the bunny hill.  But this feeling soon waned as the instructor informed us that we would then be getting on the chairlift and going even FURTHER up the mountain.  Really?  Really!  I mean...really?  We had JUST made it down!  We have to go back up?! 

The whole chair-lift thing seems pretty dodgy to me.  They don't seem very sturdy.  They look like something that carnies have slapped together over night...and yet you sit on them for 10 minutes while you hang 50 feet in the air.  I don't know...it doesn't seem right to me. 

I didn't let on that I was anything less than excited by this new activity.  We stood in line as he explained how we would be getting on and off the lift.  It involved taking one foot out of the bindings and using it to propel you along...sort of like a skateboard.  Unlike a skateboard, the foot that remains strapped to the board is at a terrible angle for forward momentum.  We all shuffled along until it was our turn to board the 'death-ride.'  The instructor went on the first chair alone...probably so he could point and laugh as we tried to disembark at the top.  Next was my husband and daughter.  They seemed to do ok.  My son and I were up next.  My palms were sweating and all I could hear was white noise in my head.  We shuffled up to the line...and then WHOMP the chair hit the backs of our legs and we were on.  I couldn't let go of my son.  This all seemed so crazy...it felt like if I let go he would fall out.  "Mom!  I'm fine!  Let go!  We're not going to fall!"  Why was it that my 10 year old was the voice of reason as I tried to huddle in the fetal position beside him. 

As we slowly made our way up the mountain I gradually relaxed.  I was fine for the middle stretch.  But as we passed the halfway point I started to panic about how we were supposed to get off this stupid contraption.  I strained to see up ahead so that perhaps I could just imitate the people before us.  Mountains are slopey...I couldn't see anyone further ahead than my husband and daughter who presumably wouldn't be experts at this.  They proved me wrong.  Off they went and disappeared down the little decline just on the other side of the exit point.  We were next.  We whipped up the safety bar as my pulse increased...I could feel the ground getting closer to my snowboard.  I could see our instructor and he was saying encouraging things, no doubt.  I could only hear the white noise...I was really concentrating hard.  I calmed my breathing and visualized a perfect dismount.  People would clap and cheer and my son and I would pump our arms in triumph.  This was it...our big moment.  As soon as we were over the platform we both stood up...and jumped.  We literally took a flying leap forward and landed in a heap at the bottom of the decline.  We both felt that being bumped by the chair lift was WAY worse than taking a face first dive off of the platform into the snow in front of dozens of people. 

We didn't pump our arms in triumph.

We were now on the top (okay okay...it wasn't the top...but it FELT like the top) of a mountain and I was well and truly done.  Ready to stop.  Ready to go back to the condo and have a stiff drink.  Ready to be warm.  Ready to not have a stupid board strapped to my feet.  Ready to stop looking like a moron.  There was one itty bitty problem.  I had to get back down this stupid hill. 

My family carved their way happily down the slopes...when they fell they got up and continued on.  It looked like tons of fun.  I, on the other hand, still required my instructor to heave my sorry ass off the ground every time I fell.  I could sense the frustration of my family as they waited for me for the umpteenth time to join them so we could continue on.  Sorry guys...Mom sucks. 

Eventually I did make it down to the bottom again.  I thought for sure we must be finished now.  It felt like we'd been out there for days.  It felt like parts of my body were bruised to the point of degrading into a pulpy mess.

Let me take a moment to tell you a little bit about falling on a snow board.  There is zero notice.  One minute you are upright...the next you are face first in the snow with your legs at 45 degree angles to your body.  After a few hours of this...I had had enough.

However, much to my chagrin, he made us go up the ski lift again.  And guess what?  I fell as I got off again.  However, I now had it down to a three step dismount...stand up...fall down...roll out of the way making a beautiful arc as the snow board sails through the air above my head.  Back down the mountain I came.  Hoisted up...falling down...hoisted up...falling down.  While I was up I really wasn't too bad...I was starting to get the feel of things.  But really...I think I spent just as much time lying supine in the snow waiting to be re-hoisted

Eventually, by the mercy of the God in the heavens, the lesson was finally over.  However...back to one of my original complaints about ski hills....they are on an angle.  With my jello legs trembling from the epic workout, I then had to trudge back up the hill to our condo. 

After a nice relaxing lunch, the kids were raring to get back to it. 

I poured a glass of wine and spent the rest of the trip on the couch where I didn't need the instructor to help me get up.