Adventures in learning to ski

I should preface this post by saying, I am not a risk- taker. I am likely one of the least risk-taking people you will meet. I didn't sneak out in high school, I don't speed, I don't hike off trail (unless I am following my husband, but it makes me anxious), it was out of my comfort zone to go on the roller coasters at Disney World. You know the term "adrenaline junkie"? That is the opposite of me. Adrenaline averse, I like to call it.

So it has never really bothered me that I have never had the opportunity to downhill ski. I had been content to cross- country ski. You can go pretty fast, but without the momentum of going, you know, down hill.  Since I now live in Colorado, however, the opportunity to downhill ski was bound to come up eventually.

And it did. We got to meet up with Joe's brother, Fr. Matt, in Breckenridge last week. It was a ton of fun and so great to get to hang out with him. We decided that Joe, Fr. Matt and I would go skiing in the morning one day and Fr. Matt would hang out with the littles while Joe and I taught the older three how to ski in the afternoon.

I should say, that even though I would not necessarily go skiing on my own, I also don't mind a challenge or going out of my comfort zone on occasion. Case in point: roller coasters. I could happily never ride another roller coaster in my life, but I will do it if the opportunity presents itself. And honestly, the anticipation of it is worse that the actual activity. People ski all the time. Little kids do it. It couldn't be that bad, right?

So the three of us got there in the morning and they gave me a crash course in skiing. They took me up the bunny hill a couple of times. I could stop, turn, slow down, all that fun stuff. After a couple runs on the bunny hill, we went up a lift that took us down a green run. I was getting the hang of it! Well, until the steep part of the run, I started going faster, got out of control and fell. Whoops! It was a solid first try, I thought.

After the first run. Feeling pretty good. 

We went up the same lift again, but about halfway down, decided to cut over to a less crowded lift. They told me that the next run was blue at the top, but then green the rest of the way down. No problem! Only, when we were cutting over to that lift, there was a steeper part which made me fall. Fr. Matt helped me up, then I fell on top of his skis and I rode down the rest of that hill on top of his skis, taking him out at the bottom. Annnnd, getting on the lift, I crossed my skis and they both snapped off.

At this point, I was beginning to feel defeated and frustrated. I sighed a lot, as I do when I am stressed. Then I apologized, because I am a chronic apologizer. We got to the top, my skis arriving a couple of chairs behind us. I looked down that long, long run and decided I could not do it. Nope, wasn't going to be able to ski this one. So I began to inch down the mountain. I wasn't going to go out of control this time! I was going to use every ounce of resistance I could so I didn't go too fast or gain too much momentum.

Those of you that have skied, I am sure, understand that this was a terrible idea. At one point (several points?) Joe pointed out that if I just skied and went with the momentum that I wouldn't be wearing myself out so much. I told him, yes, what he was saying was true, but no, I was going to do this my way. Even though my way wasn't a very good way.

I whined, I moaned, I said skiing was the least fun thing ever (note to Past Erin: you weren't actually skiing, you were trying to scoot down the mountain) and I was never doing it again, I whacked my poles into the snow in a hissy fit of frustration. I was dripping sweat with the effort of not going too fast and my legs were on fire. Actual fire. You couldn't see it, but they were. I seriously considered just sitting down, and giving up. Someone could come up with one of those stretchers and get me if they really wanted me off the mountain. I apologized profusely (an annoying amount?) to my skiing buddies because even in my crazy, I knew that I was making this a torturous experience for all involved.

Fr Matt graciously offered to ski me down to the next level area. I declined a couple times until I realized that I was in no position to be stubborn about it. So I clung to his jacket like my life was at stake and he skied us down. Unfortunately, I took him out again at the end, which he was very, very gracious about. God bless him. Joe, at least, has gotten used to putting up with my shenanigans for the last 16 years, but this was my poor brother-in-law's first real onslaught of my crazy. He was very kind and patient.

It was about time to pick the kids up, but we were still 1/2? 2/3? of the way up the mountain, so Fr. Matt went ahead so he could get them and meet up with us after, leaving Joe and I. It was somewhere around this point that I looked down, saw how far I still had to go and came to grips with the fact that I was holding myself (and my beloved husband) hostage. There was no way of getting down but just doing it and I was making it take so much longer. So I skied. It wasn't pretty, I still whined, I lost control a few times and fell. But that friggin' mountain didn't beat me. No, it didn't.

Teaching the kids was fun. I was rocking that bunny hill!

We ate lunch, drank some water, met up with the kids. I put on my big girl panties and got back out there. I wasn't going to end my day on that note, nope. Joe and I taught Issy, Isaac and Liam to ski.  They each picked it up with varying degrees of ease (or unease). We took them down the bunny hill a few times (that I navigated easily, which was balm for my poor, bruised ego).We went up the lift and took them on a relatively short green run. I fell once and the kids all fell at least once, but it was fun. FUN! I was feeling good by the end. I really enjoyed teaching them and was very glad that I sucked it up and stayed for the afternoon.

And that was my experience learning to ski. I would totally do it again. Although, I might stick to the greens next time :)