rated PG
We didn't ski growing up. It was expensive. I guess maybe I could have started skiing, like, in high school if I wanted to ask for all the ski crap to comprise both my birthday and Christmas gifts. But by then my close friends already knew how to ski and I was reluctant and intimidated.
I went to a fancy private liberal arts college in Colorado. Everyone there had been skiing since they were three, wearing fur muffs and diamond skis or whatever. Actually, it was more about how hardcore your gear was, which is the same thing. I was reluctant and intimidated. But I did tag along one weekend to Vail with all my extremely experienced friends. I rented all the crap and shuffled and fell towards the ski lift with my friends and found myself on top of a very large mountain. Vail is huge. And busy. There were beautiful and adept skiers everywhere. I felt to be the only person who didn't know how to get down the mountain.
Keep in mind we were college students, but we were still teenagers, which means we were still buttheads. So, my friends were my friends but they were also very focussed on being cool and putting out the vibe and all that. There wasn't a lot of patience for my utter inability to do anything correctly with my body. I kept falling down and they kept pausing and sort of huffing with impatience waiting for me to get up. My friend Lucius was like
"Nelson, just go like this..." and he goes swish swish swish for several yards, moving his skis pertly from side to side. Like, duh, just do that.
I told them to just go ahead. They did. At some point I found myself on a cat track, although I didn't know that is what they are called. I just thought they were reasonably slanted ski paths. I was scooting along trepidatiously when I accidentally clipped the back end of the ski of a fancy gal who had paused to talk loudly and importantly with her fancy friends. I said "sorrysorrysorry!" while I was doing it, but she turned towards me and yelled
"Jeez** Ch**st!! What the f***!!! Watch where you're going!" I did not have the familiarity with skiing culture to understand she was actually being a total asshole. I thought instead that I ought to be ashamed of myself for even being there, and that she assumed I was some servant who had wandered out of the stables. She was probably from NYC, and I grew up in the rural West, so it's very possible she had experienced heated verbal exchanges with strangers on several occasions, while I don't think I had ever been in the position to practice rightfully defending myself against an obnoxious peer in public like that. Excluding junior high, which is a cesspool of humanity, and one generally knows one's enemies there. Needless to say, I was out of my league and did not have the fortitude to encourage myself otherwise.
And then! And then I was almost to the bottom of the big whatever in front of the lodge and I accidentally cut off some pipsqueak on a snowboard and I was like "sorrysorrysorry!" and he said
"You b**ch!" which just completely deflated me all the way to empty. This dumb kid. Who are these people? I was done. I spent the rest of the weekend in the Vail Public Library reading. One of my friends offered to buy me a lesson, but I felt so condescended upon, that I refused. So, I became the person who said
"I don't ski." So there.
But then this whole parenting thing. We're not a real sports-oriented family. But I want us to ski. Because I want to seek vengeance on the snobs of Vail Mountain and because I want to rectify the fragility of my younger self. And I want my son to learn to ski because that will fix everything. So Buck and I started skiing last year. We went twice. We went mid-week to avoid crowds. We took a lesson. The instructor was weird, but it was ok. Buck amazed me with his fortitude. I posted about it on Instagram. I did well also. The winter wonderland aspect of a ski mountain has really wooed me.
Here we are, ski season 2022. I rented an Airbnb. We're skipping school. We rented all the crap and hit the slopes yesterday. Wes is a master snowboarder, so he swirls around us, or sorties off to do other runs and then catch back up with us. But Buck and I are back in the saddle. I'm very scappy, which is a word that Buck made up that means scared/happy. It's just so easy to be intimidated by all the people who already know how to do all the things. But I must present as calm and enthusiastic to steer everyone else's emotions in the right direction. Actually, Buck was chomping at the bit, and Wes was very leaderly and solicitous.
The day started off well. We fall a bit on the first green run, but by the second run Buck is staying up and enjoying himself. Before lunch I insist we do a blue run because it looks so beautiful and swooshy. That blue run went pretty well. But the thing is, I have a bad knee: I have arthritis in my right knee; and there are other things; and it's a whole thing. And I forgot my special tape and special brace back at home, which was not great. So by the time we are enjoying lunch in the lodge, my body is very tired. But I don't realize it because I'm so stimulated by this new experience of clomping around the lodge and dealing with all the gear and trying not to feel like the new kid at school.
But, look, I'm forty eig - well, it doesn't matter how old I am, but I must admit that I am not young; nor is my body. We return to the green run and Buck is like: peace out! and flies ahead of me. I find myself speeding out of control on the super long, big, slicky part and I fall really hard. I bonk my head; my neck goes CRUNCH; I am mad with nobody to be mad at; I want to cry. This happens again a bit later. We do the beautiful blue run and I realize that my legs are simply not responding to my commands; they're tired from this novel exercise. Also my back, arms, shoulders, and neck. I trip on my own poles. I fall One Thousand times getting down that hill. I yell at my family to leave me alone. I might have even said
"Stop looking at me!"
The boys obey me and depart. At one point a nice couple stops to hand me my pole as I am trying to pull myself back up. He's a good deal older than me, which today feels like an encouragement, but at the time I felt like a big baby. He kindly asked if I was ok, and I said very honestly
"Yeah, I'm just tired." And he said "yeah, that happens."
Many years later, I got to the bottom of the mountain where the boys were waiting for me. Wes helped me pop out of my bindings. We agreed they should take a few more runs while I convalesce in the car.
Eventually we found ourselves in the hot tub. Then we went out to surprisingly yummy pizza. Then we slept with the sedation of the exhausted. Today I realized that I am still very exhausted. And my neck is right pissed off. I knew if I went back up there I would hurt myself and complicate things for our lives beyond the winter wonderland.
I started to think, what, well, what if, I could just stay here at the cabin all day. It might (absolutely certainly) be lovely. Watch the snow come down, crochet that blanket I'm working on, watch the fire crackle, scribble a word or two. Also, one must acknowledge that at this age, rest is as important a component of training as the exercise itself. This rest will only better my abilities, surely. Buck was very supportive. Definitely, stay here Mom. No big deal. We'll be fine. I'm getting good now and I can stick with Dad and we'll go over jumps.
So here I am, watching the snow fall from in front of the fire, all by myself. The biggest win, really, is Buck's growing confidence on his skis. Because it is a glorious feeling to swish down the mountain. Except I want ski mountains that have mostly green and blue runs; nothing scary. And also little cozy hobbit holes here and there, where you stop for cider or a wee dram. Warm up a bit by the fire. Then swish around some more, get good and tired but not I-think-I'm-gonna-cry tired, before retreating to firesides and warm beds.
There's no big moral here. Skiing is expensive and inaccessible to many. But I am deeply, deeply grateful for the ability to learn a new thing. And to retreat like this, resting by the fire.
p.s. If you have good knees that work just fine, you get down on those knees and humbly offer up your gratitude for all your working parts.
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