Lesson Learned - It's Hard to Kiss in Ski Goggles

For most of Brian's and my married life, Brian's wanted to take me skiing, but each winter I've either been pregnant, we've been too poor, or we've had a baby that's too young to leave for a whole day. So up until this winter, I had never been skiing before in my entire life, and since this winter I am definitely not pregnant, we got a $100 debit card from one of the doctors Brian worked with, and Marcus can play at Grandma's all day long without crying too much, I gave Brian a ski trip for his Christmas present. The only problem, is that the only day we could go during Christmas vacation, is was 54 degrees and raining in the mountains - not a very good day for skiing.

But this last Wednesday, two for one day at Bluewood, the weather was perfect. We dropped the kids off at my mom's house, picked up some doughnuts from Yokes, and went on our merry way. The merriment came a little bit from the doughnuts, but mostly from the fact that we would have a day together, after being apart for so long, without children.

I never thought that skiing was a big deal. I knew a lot of people enjoyed it, but I really didn't feel like I was missing anything spectacular. But now that I've done it, I've got to say, skiing is so incredibly fun! My dad was actually a ski instructor when he was in college, so he showed me a little of the basics before we left, and also told me what not to do to break my legs. And Brian was a wonderful teacher on the mountain.

When we got there, we put our skis on, and went straight up the mountain. I barely knew how to maneuver well enough to get on the ski lift, but up we went. (By the way, I became very good friends with guys operating the ski lifts, because they would have to slow it down or stop it for me to get on. Learning to get on those things is harder than learning to ski. Also, ski lifts are terrifying! Sometimes you're up forty or fifty feet in the air, just hanging there, with heavy skis on your feet and no seat belt!)

First we went on Country Road (the green trail on the left), which wasn't very bad until I got to the switchback turn about halfway through. The first time down, I really didn't know what I was doing, and I kept ending up going faster than I wanted to, feeling out of control, and then the trail would level a bit, and I would slow down, and eventually stop. Brian would either go in front of me or behind me, giving me instructions and encouragement as we went. It was one of those times when he was behind me that I rounded a curve, looked ahead a bit on the trail and noticed a sharp, downhill turn. "There is no way I'm doing that," I thought, and being the brilliant skier that I am, I veered into the wall of snow on the side of the trial and crashed. This happened just after Brian rounded the curve, so he saw me do a flip (he swears I did a flip, but it didn't feel like I did) and land on my back. Luckily, I didn't have to call my dad at this point to tell him I had a broken leg. I inched my way to the turn, then down the mountain.

Things started getting easier toward the bottom of the hill, and I felt like I was at least a little more in control of things. So next, we used the platterpull and did the bunny hill one time. (The bunny hill at Bluewood is just the last little stretch of Country Road, and it's pretty flat, so I did it to just get a better handle on things before our next run.)

The next run, after holding on for dear life up the ski lift, went a little smoother. Needless to say, I was a pansy. I snowplowed my way down the mountain, especially slowing down every time I thought I might be approaching that deadly turn. But snowplowing made it easier for me to keep my balance and speed under control, and it also helped me transition to being in control when my skis were parallel, too.

So we went on Country Road a couple more times, then on Triple Nickel (the green on the bottom right) a few times, then we went to our car to eat our picnic lunch with Max, the resident ski dog, who was huge. The picture doesn't make him look nearly as huge as he really is.


After that, Brian convinced me to go down Tamarack Trail (the blue one coming from the top), which was easier and more tame than Country Road, until you get to Tamarack, which is a steep bowl of icy snow and death. Okay, so maybe it's not that bad, but when the trail gradually ended, and we were standing at the top of that thing, I was scared. While I was standing there, contemplating taking off my skis and hiking back up the mountain in my clunky boots to get to Country Road, a family came by with a little boy, who must have been about seven, and he just stood at the top, bent his knees, gave a little push and went flying down. And I just kept standing there, planning where I would build the igloo that I would live in until spring.

This is when Brian taught me to not go straight down, but to angle across the mountain, which I did, very slowly, until I got to the other side. "Now you've got to turn around and go back the other way, " Brian said, "Put your skis together, go straight down for just a bit, then turn...Carrie, what are you doing?"

This is what I was doing: I sat down, flat on my bottom, and flopped my skis in the opposite direction. Then I took a few minutes to stand back up again. I did this a couple times, crisscrossing across the bowl, until I was brave enough to attempt turning around standing up. When we got to the bottom Brian said, "I'll bet you were thinking there for a while that that was the only way to get down the mountain, weren't you?" Uh huh.

Overall, Tamarack Trail was my favorite, once I got the hang of it. After that first run we had time to go once more, and I didn't sit down to turn around, not one single time.

When we were through, Brian and I clunked back to the car, took off all our snow gear, and drove back to the Tri-Cities. The kids had had a wonderful time playing with cousins and hanging out with Grandma Roses all day, and Brian and I had had a wonderful time, too. Skiing is fabulous fun.