Speaking of snow ….
The Ski Holiday
Ex hubby was a sniper in the ski patrol back in his days with the British army. So, while not technically being born with skis on, something I am sure his mother would not like to contemplate, he was quite at home with 170cms [67 inches] of timber attached to his feet. The only experience I had had with timber on my feet was a pair of clogs someone gave me as a gift!
With his reassuring “it’s OK, I can teach you” still running around in my head, the ski holiday becomes a reality.
So, there I am, all decked out in what I was told was a snow bunny outfit but felt more like a Michelin Man suit with not only my feet extended by 150cms or so but also my arms, as they now have 105cms [41 inches] of aluminium ski pole attached to them. Perfect outfit for a windmill impression, many of which I did during the “I can teach you” sessions.
My first lesson was the ski plow which is the position you put your newly elongated feet into to slow yourself down and stay upright. Most of the snow ploughing I did was with my body!
Apparently, after a few hours, I was ready to tackle a green run; the jury is still out on that one
This is when I met the apparatus which was going to get me to the top of the green run. My instructions were, “you grab the moving rope, position this disc between your legs, lean back on the skis and you will be pulled up the mountain. BUT remember if you do not get the disc positioned between your legs correctly, let go and try again on the next rope”.
That sounds easy enough until you factor in that my feet are unnaturally 9 times longer than I am used to working with and my arms, twice as long.
I managed to shuffle my elongated feet into position and with ski poles dangling off my wrists, successfully grabbed the moving rope. Moving being the key word here, I am now being pulled up the mountain with one hand hanging onto the rope and the other hand trying to “position the disc” between my legs while trying to stay upright and not tangle the ski poles.
I not only failed to position the disc, I also failed to remember to “let go and try again on the next rope”.
Picture a rope on the side of the mountain with evenly spaced, leant back skiers, gracefully being pulled to the top. Now add me to that picture, crouched down, arms extended, too scared to let go, screaming!
As I went past a group of skiers just standing on the side of the mountain, I had briefly stopped screaming to grasp much needed air to fuel said screams and overheard one of them say “that’s different” .. my response could quite possibly have scored me the lead role in a remake of the Exorcist!
I made it all the way to top and even stopped screaming before I got there. Somewhere around the half way mark, my arm muscles had started some screaming of their own and they did not stop at the top.
Without making a long story even longer, I will skip all the details of “follow me” hubby making a wrong turn and leading me onto a Black run which I ended up crawling down with skis in hand, after my sitting in the snow and being told that I “have to get to the bottom” and “no, they will not send a helicopter to get you”.
Not only did I learn that skiing is probably not my thing, I was also reminded of how many times a day we use or move our arms and it only took a week before I was able to do that again without crying
Edited by Teila - 5/31/16 at 4:11pm