I was fifteen. Experienced skier Boyfriend was nineteen. Best friend and her boyfriend were along too, the three of us on our first day on skis.
It was supposed to be a fabulous day. I daydreamed how cute I would look on the slopes and surely Boyfriend would be taken aback with my amazing athleticism. The icing on the cake would be to brag to my friends at school that I was officially a “ski chick”. Someone should have thrown me a clue of reality.
“Just pick up your foot if you want to turn” was the only advice Boyfriend gave me. All day. What the heck was he talking about? I felt like picking up my foot and kicking him in the beehind. This was not going to be a glamorous day for me at all. Practically no one on that Tug-Hill Plateau mountain (is it a plateau or a mountain?) wore ski pants or anything that resembled waterproof clothing. Of course, it didn’t matter to them. They weren’t falling down. Again and again. And again. Soaked to the skin I decided to change into the second pair of jeans I brought along that day for apres-ski. I didn’t really know what apres-ski meant except that it sounded terribly romantic. Thank God my mother insisted I pack those extra pants. I had only been on the hill for half an hour when I changed and it was going to be a long, wet day.
Getting off the lift for the first time was a lesson in humility. Of course Boyfriend didn’t ride with me, Best Friend did. We both fell off (badly) before reaching the unload point. You can see it now; lift stopping, people staring, some annoyed, us giggling and crying at the same time. It was the only lift ride Best Friend ever took that day, or for the rest of her life. She’d decided she’d had enough. She headed straight for the lodge, cozy and dry while I suffered and stuck it out. For what? To impress Boyfriend? I’m not sure he ever looked back (yes, back, for surely I was behind him the entire time). He must have just sensed my presence. Can’t animals sense fear? And humans are animals, right? I’m sure I stuck it out simply for my pride. “I can do this” I kept thinking. I had years of experience as an amateur figure skater. But skating rinks are flat, they might be slippery but there are zero degrees of vertical.
The conditions were optimal for an experienced skier. Lots of snow was coming down and I thought I heard someone say “powder”. Today I realize what an epic day that was, since New York State simply does not get powder. But we did that day. My first ski day. I was thinking “powder” my nose not how light and fluffy the snow was. Oh the fluffy stuff didn’t prevent me from becoming covered in bruises from my hips to my ankles. At least no one could see them under my soaking wet jeans. Shoosh shoosh shoosh I heard as others effortlessly flew by me. How could they manage to do that in what I considered to be vanilla pudding?
Coming into the lodge I immediately made my way to the ladies room. Using the facilities was a challenge when one is trying to remove wet jeans with clompy ski boots over your feet. I stumbled in the stall but fortunately it was so tiny I couldn’t have fallen down if I wanted to. Actually it was the only place I didn’t fall that day. I must have missed the giant mitten basket on the way in to the restroom because I attempted to balance my puffy wet ones on the back of the toilet. Bad idea. Fortunately their plunge happened before the business was done. Checking my reflection in the mirror on the way out I was overcome with horror. My hair was wet, stringy, and matted. Of course I had to wear ear muffs since they were so much cuter than a hat. A hat that would have kept my hair and head dry and warm. Mascara was dripping down my face like an Alice-Cooper-wannabe and my cheeks and nose were a red, chapped mess. I thought “I…am…a…freak”. No one bothered to give me a second look in the ladies room as they had surely seen it before. I was the only one who couldn’t see the “First Time Skier” tattoo on my forehead. If I thought I looked and felt bad then it only got worse when I saw Best Friend. “You look terrible!” she cried. Her sympathy and support were overwhelming as she sipped a hot chocolate and looked perky.
The ride home was an unusually silent one with the exception of Boyfriend exclaiming “Those conditions were the biggest snow dump I’ve ever seen!” The next day I promptly gave him another big dump. We were done.
A few weeks later I toughed it out and came back, that day without Boyfriend and with snow pants. It’s been many years since that first day, with many lift tickets from around the country and better gear and skills. But you never forget your first time, do you?
