Thursday, December 4, 2008

I have whiplash and sore muscles but I am alive...

Last weekend we went to Tremblant, and because I have not skiied in more than six years and have the memory of an antelope, I decided that I am just SO good at skiing that it would be impossibly boring for me to ski while my husband learned, and so, I should snowboard.

#1. I should not snowboard. Because

#2. I am not 18 or cool.

#3. I am not as fit as I think I am.

#4. I have only snowboarded about 3 times. And

#5. I have the memory of an antelope so I did not remember that those other 3 times were p-a-i-n-f-u-l because... refer to items #1 through #5. Repeat.

But anyway, I snowboarded. Or rather, I strapped my feet into a snowboard, then proceeded to stand, move five inches, fall onto knees, hit my fist into the ground, stand, move five inches, fall backwards onto my butt and slam head into side of mountain, cry a little bit. Repeat for 5 hours then drown sorrows in bottle of wine.

Meanwhile my husband and brother-in-law bonded on the slopes.

Skiing is a breeze!

On day 2, I awoke full of pain. Everything hurt. But I decided that magically overnight I had osmosed everything I needed to know to be a first-rate boarder and so, I tried again. I did one run in the same fashion as I did on day 1, then proceeded to swiftly swap my board for skis. I had to rent skis though because when I went to my dad's to get all my ski gear he allowed me to take my ski outfit and boots, but prohibited me from taking my skis from the premises.

He: "Oh no you don't."

Me: "Why not? I like my skis." I was sure he would be thrilled that the hundreds of dollars he'd spent on all my equipment would be put back into use after such a long hiatus.

He: "No one has skis like that anymore."

Me: "They DON'T?"

He was right. When I went into the rental shop to get my skis, the rental guy asked me what length I wanted.

"185," I said confidently, sure that despite six years off, I could still manage my race-team length skis. I'd show that hill that I may not be able to snowboard, but I could still ski.

The rental guy started laughing at me. "They don't MAKE 185s anymore. Your skis must be OLD. They only go up to 175 now, and that's for experts."

"Oh," I said sheepishly, slunking down into my pink neckwarmer. "I'll take whatever then."

I couldn't have been happier to be back in skis.

Me, minus the bikini and blonde hair.

And because he's so sweet, the Hubs couldn't stop saying how amazing a skier I was. That is the glory of skiing on green circles with your husband who has never even see a ski mountain let alone been on one before -- everyone looks like a pro if they're not snowplowing. The Hubs of course, didn't realize that. He's a keeper, that one.

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