A Moment of Truth on the Mountain

[memories evoked by the Writer's Island prompt, "the moment"]


I don't remember not knowing how to ski. Snow ski, that is. I grew up in the flatness of southern Illinois, yet my parents took us to Colorado each winter and put us on skis about as soon as we could walk. Our vacations were two weeks long, at most. By the time my brother and I were in school, we were down to one week. By the time I was in college, we did only long weekend trips (Thursday through Sunday, with some of that time spent in airports and airplanes). Eventually I was pretty good, especially for a "flatlander".

Then after college, I was on my own and didn't make enough time (or money to begin with) to go skiing. I didn't ski for something like 15 years.

Then a friend convinced me to try it again. I went and bought some ski boots (yes I know they rent such things, but I have a hard foot to fit and I knew that if the boot wasn't comfortable I wouldn't last an hour on the slopes). I bought some cheap ski pants and I borrowed a parka. I dug out old gloves.

I went up to New Hampshire for the weekend. I waited for the kind people in the ski rental place to fit the bindings to my boots and get me the right size poles. I bought my lift ticket and went to meet the group of friends who were ready to re-introduce me to downhill skiing.

Putting the skis on was familiar. I remembered how to move around on them, and got in line for the lift. I remembered how to get on the lift without falling and I even remembered how to hold my poles (and not drop by gloves when I needed a tissue).

It was a gorgeous, cold but sunny day. The scenery on the way up was fantastic, but I do believe my heart was racing just a little. Why wasn't I on a bunny hill? Had I forgotten that it had been 15 years since I was last on skis? Not to mention my weight was about 100 pounds more than when I last skied. Oh yeah, and all these people with me were 10 years younger than I was!

Denying my inner turmoil, I unloaded at the top without disgracing myself and I managed to pull up to my new ski-buddies without knocking anyone over. The first challenge was a cat trail across the mountain. I started down, trying out my legs and the new skis. These things are not the long boards I used to wear. No these are "shaped skis," shorter and with narrower waists that make the skis easier to turn than in the "old days." I tried shifting my weight from one to another to see them curve a bit. So far, so good.

The general traffic had thinned out and the cat trail opened up at the top of two trails. I stop in between the two options to get the lay of the land. My group was lining up at the top of the far trail. Well-trained, I didn't want to try to stop at the up-mountain end of the line, just in case I fell. Instead, I planned to ski above the group, then turn to the left (behind them) and come to rest at the bottom of the line-up.

I push off and head across the mountain. I pass the group and shift my weight for my first non-snowplow turn in 15 years, and I immediately eat snow. My friend comes over, concern in his eyes, to find me laughing. I think I said, "Well, now that I've got that out of my system…." He was delighted to find me in good spirits, but I think he may have been worried about the rest of the trip down. It was an easy trail, but it was over 2-1/2 miles long.

I got up, dusted off, and reattached the ski I had knocked off when I ran through some thicker snow I hadn't noticed from across the slope. I took my place in line and knocked the snow out of my goggles. And from the collar of my parka.

Did I mention it was a beautiful day? We were at Wildcat mountain and from the top you can see Mount Washington. It was big and beautiful. And then it was my turn to follow and somehow, my muscles remember what to do. They complain about doing it, but they are holding me up, and I'm making curves. At the next place we stop, I even remember how to do a hockey-stop. It was a moment of triumph.

In an effort to provide full disclosure, I need to say that my start-things-off fall was not the last fall of the day. I got tired. I got thirsty. I eventually decided that I needed Advil to keep skiing. Later I discovered that an Advil BEFORE I started the day was even better, followed by one at lunch and another when I came in around 4 for cocoa. Or cocoa spiked with something.

I think that was in 1999 and for several years, I skied a little each year. I haven't gone in a couple of years, but I expect to be back at it, if not this year, then next year. I am glad that my moment of truth was a success.