First new skis in 8 years, brought by Santa. These skis are the closest thing to flying for me. They are fast, carve perfectly and man do I love them. Sometimes I think they were made just for me. The other day I skied pure ice, a black diamond that had bodies everywhere. I thought for sure this trail would claim me, but NOPE. I had my trusty Passions on and they brought me safely down that ugly hard pack/ice. Wow. Worth every penny.
What: First Annual Mother-Daughter Ski Day
How: A complete and total blast.
Friday I let my almost 11-year-old daughter play hooky and come skiing with me. It was just the two of us, no boys allowed. The color of the day was black, as in black diamonds. The girl wouldn’t ski any other trail, except for the blue warm up run. Temperature was 11 with 15 mph winds. We giggled, sang silly songs… and oh yeah, TORE UP THE MOUNTAIN. Pure heaven. Definitely going to be an annual event.
Even before I became a mother I wanted to be a Ski Mom. I used to shadow classes of wee ones on the mountain. Were the kids happy? They all looked so cute, ok at least until someone cried. Inside the lodge I’d see Moms pulling sandwiches out of coolers, giving the nod as the kids spilled on about all the runs they took that morning, their heads sweaty from their hats and their cheeks red from the cold. I loved it. All of it. Now that I’m a Mom, I’m doing the same thing. My favorite part of the day is when my youngest (7) gets off the lift for the first time of the day. He shouts out “waaa hooo” and throws his arms up in the air. He’s ready for some mountain fun and I can’t wait to find out what the day will bring to us.
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?
It was bound to happen. Being married to an adventurous guy I knew that he would want to try it someday. Snowboarding that is. After some thought I realized that there could be some major advantages to all of this. For once, he would be slow. No more “chop chop” and the husband-clock chiming “SGO! SGO! SGO!” (that’s short for “let’s go”) when we are out on the slopes. I decided to see how it would all play out.
He tried snowboarding for the first time one day on a mid-week trip organized by some work buddies. The new guy had a board and everyone admired it from a safe distance. After lunch Husband asked if he could try it for a few runs. Of course the bunny slope was too demeaning to him; he went straight for a green. The mountain that day was particularly icy and not very forgiving to someone who is down more than up. After a few tries and one whiplash-producing wham (thank God he was smart enough to borrow the helmet too) he returned the board to its owner. For weeks he nursed his aching neck. There’s nothing like a case of whiplash to bring you to your senses. “Good I thought… the fascination is over.”
I was wrong.
“I’m gonna check out the swap meet this weekend” he quietly mumbled. “Hmmm” I thought. He must be going to check out new skis. When he returned with “the wood” I knew there was no turning back for him. Now “the wood” was no ordinary wood. He got the used snowboard from a big kid who was upgrading. I think the kid was simply afraid of the graphics on the board. How could you look down at a distorted man’s face in mid-primal scream and not be scared? The kids were scared of it. I was scared of it. Husband was indifferent and anxious to hit the trails. I was already planning on stocking up on Advil.
That was two years ago. Husband now splits his time on the mountain between the two sports, preferring to snowboard in the morning when his muscles aren’t tired and aching and going back to his first love of gobbling up black diamonds on the sticks. Logistics for a family ski day has now drastically changed. Husband now has a specific spot on the chairlift, and giving our little one a hop up on the lift seat is now impossible for him since he has to be on the outermost chair spot. Unloading is also confusing since he now needs time to buckle his bindings. “Riders” must unbuckle their boots from the bindings to keep one foot free for maneuverability in the lift line. But our entertainment factor has increased. The kids no longer look for his flaming red jacket to find him. They look for the lump on the snow now. And runs are now more leisurely since we are no longer trying to catch up with him. He’s behind us now, waaay behind us. But with each season he inches closer to our group. Secretly I think he likes hanging back. He’s got time to give the boarder-to-boarder head nod that skiers never seem to exchange. It’s like some kind of secret sign. What are they really thinking? It must be something like “Ow, my butt took it hard on that last one.” Or maybe “Why is this approach so stinkin’ flat?”
I guess after all this, the answer is Yes. This Ski Chick does find something in common with her Boarder Dude. We both still enjoy the mountain and everything it has to offer- the snow, the views, and the fun. We give the same war cry on our first runs of the day and enjoy some well deserved après ski refreshment (has the term après board been invented yet?). And hey, I admire him for trying something new. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?
This past weekend I saw a late-twentyish girl attempting to snowboard down a blue trail. She was obviously a newbie and had a look of complete terror on her face. I took 4 runs on the same trail in the time it took her to move about 10 yards. Close by her side was her (obvious) boyfriend. Each time I passed her I had to shout out “hang in there!” and it brought just the slightest smile to her otherwise panic-stricken face. Girlies- don’t ever let your boyfriend teach you to ride or ski. Take a lesson. It’s worth it. It will save your behind from too many bumps AND might save your relationship.
It’s the end of February, where has the winter gone? Ahhh, the sound of the snow crunching under my feet, the white cloud of my frozen breath as a I jog along… I love it all. But there’s only about 6 weeks left of this glorious season. I plan to get as many ski days as possible before that Northeast packed powder turns into the corn snow and then… M-U-D. What are your plans for the next six weeks?
I have many acquaintances who just don’t like the winter. You can’t avoid having a co-worker or neighbor who just can’t wait to complain about the cold weather. I usually stay silent, because if you know me you know I am SKI CHICK and I’m going to give you zero sympathy and will not lament with you at all. I know that many people don’t have much choice in where they live, but I’m grateful I can live in the Northeast and not suffer through hot and humid conditions in the south. How can you breathe? So my advice is to all those suffering from the cold, just embrace it. Find something you can enjoy about the winter and go do it. There are so many outdoor activities to do and they don’t all involve extreme physical activity. But they all do involve dressing properly. Get a decent pair of boots, a warm hat and gloves and a coat. You could outfit yourself for under a hundred bucks at Target or Kmart!
Is there anything better than to look outside and see the snow falling? Yes there is… It’s better to BE OUTSIDE when the snow is falling. I love to run in the snow, walk in the snow, and hike in the snow. Sunny or cloudy, the snow is it for me.
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