Last weekend was the last trip we are taking before our move to Denver. Michael and I went skiing in Tahoe with some friends of ours. I’ve never been skiing before, but I thought that since it is practically the law that you have to learn to ski when you live in Colorado, and since it’s been a long time since I’ve seen snow, it would be a good idea to expose ourselves to what is coming.
The trip was about 4 hours long. Due to a lack of advance planning, we managed to scrounge up a hotel that was not much more than a bed to sleep in. It was OK since we were not expecting to spend much time there anyway. The only requirement that anyone in our group had was that the hotel had to have a hot tub. Done.
So, the next morning we all got into the car and headed for the slopes. I was kind of excited to try on my new snow pants and other ski gear. Because I had never skied before and didn’t know if I would like it, we rented the equipment – boots, poles, skis. I learned something about my anatomy that day. I knew that I had larger than average calves for a girl my size. I knew that I couldn’t buy the kind of boots that zip up the side for that very reason. Why then, that this did not occur to me before getting ski boots, is a mystery.
Those would be my shins after we got the boots off. There was a lot of bruising and even a little blood. I would think that the shin pain might have been an cause for alarm earlier, but the guy teaching us to ski said, “I bet you are wondering why anyone does this right now. You have to put on all this uncomfortable gear and hike in it, then you can’t get control of yourself when you are trying to move around. Don’t worry, soon you’ll learn why anyone would bother.” I chalked it up to being unfamiliar with the gear.
The more I skied, the worse those boots felt. Since I was just learning and not really going down much of a slope, the ski instructor told me to just unhook the boots from my shin area while I took the lessons. I did quite well with those lessons, actually. I learned to stop, control my speed and to turn. I even learned to fall (but that wasn’t part of the lesson – I just made that part up myself, flat on my back in the snow). I had enough fun that I think I would like to do it again sometime.
Quite frankly, I was willing to try again the next day, even though I hurt. We were going to a second ski resort that happens to have an even higher elevation than the first one. We heard weather reports saying that below 6000 feet it was going to rain, while above 6000 feet it would snow. Well, OK, we could handle the snow – that’s why we had SNOW pants after all. So, we set off.
As we got nearer to the ski resort, we saw a checkpoint telling us we could not move ahead unless we had chains on the car tires. In keeping with the theme of the weekend, we ignored that sign and switched to another route where chains were not required. The traffic on that road was at a crawl. We saw snowplows pass us on the side of the road. Still, we kept going ahead. At some point, Michael questioned the wisdom of forging ahead. Another member of our group and I seconded his feeling. The fourth member wanted to keep trying though, in case the weather cleared up. While we were just hanging out on the highway, I got a few shots of the weather.
Yeah, not so nice.
Not something I wanted to be outside in, let alone on skis.
Especially when I was in pain. I could brave one or the other, but not both.
After a few more feeble protests from the fourth passenger in the car, we came to the decision to turn back and head home. Better to turn and run away, and live to ski another day (I say).
So, I only got to learn to ski a little, but we did find a nice bar in the ski village where they served these amazing chocolate martinis. We found an art gallery where we purchased these
coasters. They are the first decorative things I have purchased for the new house. Isn’t it neat how they fit together in a puzzle? Plus, they have a little of the black and white snow thing going for them. It’s a novelty for me now.
So, yep, I will definitely ski again, even though it still hurts to kneel (and there is a lot of that when you are scrubbing your house and purging things before a move). The moral of this story is: just because something hurts, it doesn’t mean it isn’t worthwhile.
P.S. I have a finished knitted object to show you after Carisa’s 30th birthday party tomorrow!