The white stuff must have got me high

Just after falling down a few times, my blue jeans was completely wet. I was having cold feet because of the wet socks. My fingers were frigid since the 10 dollar gloves were no good either. I lost my skis many times. I thought I had twisted my ankle. I just wanted to make it down hill back to the renting place. I just wanted to live.

Almost 5 years ago, I was having morbid thoughts on the slopes of Beaver hills in the mountains of Utah. All I could do to prevent crashing into trees or taking a 10ft dive was to stop abruptly by hitting the ground sideways. Five year old kids zipping past me made the situation seem worse for me. I didn’t know how to slow down, stop, turn or recover from a fall. And fall I did, many a time. Sympathetic passersby stopped by to ask if I was OK. Some told me to try the pizza wedge. Others told me to zigzag my way down. I did, to no avail. I fell and tumbled at every turn. After about 50 falls, I had mastered the art of getting up. About a hundred falls later I figured out I could use my already aching butt to make my way down. I sat on it through the bumps and troughs, determined to make it, no matter what. After an agonizing 2 hours I could finally see the rental office. I tumbled through the last of the many steep slopes and 20 minutes later I was where I had started.

Back at the rental place, I was trying to revive my fingers. I couldn’t feel them anymore. I ran warm water on them. I didn’t feel anything for a few minutes. Finally when the blood rushed back into the fingers, it was so unbelievably painful. I hadn’t experience anything like that before. I was still not sure about the ankle although the pain was much lesser than I had expected earlier.

As I was limping to the car, I began to recollect the events that took me to the top of the summit. Barely 10 minutes after I put the skis on and only after going down a small slope a couple of times I had impulsively hopped on to the lift. Only I didn’t know that the lift dropped you at the summit. As the seemingly endless ascent to the top began, the implications of this blunder began to sink in. I even considered taking the lift back to bottom of the summit but it looked equally dangerous. I had never worn a pair of skis, never been to a skiing place, never watched anyone ski, never skied down a slope until that morning. How did I ever think I was ready for it?

In spite of all the self inflicted torture, by the time I made it back to the rental place, I began to get a feel for skiing. I had tried the pizza wedge a few times. (It seemed to work when I was in no danger of crashing into a tree or hitting the ground!) I had learnt how to fall without hurting myself too much and to get up from the fall. And I was still alive. So I decided then that the next time I tried skiing, I would learn at least the basics before hopping on a lift.

….. and so I did. I went to the Wachusett ski resort a few weeks ago, took a lesson and have been skiing almost every weekend since. Not a pro yet, but one day I will try to make it to the Winter Olympics for the disabled (a twisted ankle or a broken knee!! All bets are open). I guess I’m just high on Boston lager and the Boston life!