This weekend we went to New Hampshire to hang out with friends and to, once again, revisit the place where we got married. I can’t get enough of the Shovel Handle! As it happens we also did a little skiing.
A few years ago I made the switch from skis to skiboards (or blades, as I like to call them because I’m extremely hip). They are much easier on the knees and…well, just easier all around actually. You can turn and stop on a dime, I always feel in control and they are so much lighter and less of a pain to carry around. Since I have made the switch I have been exclusively on the blades, foregoing actual skis entirely. This has never been a problem at all since I live and ski in New England where powder days are about as rare as beach days. The blades have usually been kind to me but this Sunday we decided to ski in the middle of a snowstorm. The powder was too thick and too deep. I was miserable on the blades. I took one run and that was that, I had a decision to make. I could either go to the bar and drink for the rest of the day or I could man up and rent skis and have fun like everyone else.
Crap it’s only 10:30am. Bar is closed. Off to the rental shop.
Armed with my husband’s wallet (I’d left mine at the house) and an uncharacteristic spurt of courage, I de-bladed and clomped into the rental shop. The rental shop guys thought I was a total nut case. First off, I only had my husband’s wallet which means that I only had his photo ID. They were nice enough to let that slide. Then there was the poor chap that had to listen to me asking for the shortest skis possible since I’ve been on blades for the last five years and I’m freaked out about getting back into skis. He said, “If I give you too short skis you’ll have the same problem you are having with your blades.” Shush with your logic, rental shop man. He gave me 140s and some poles and sent me on my way. “Don’t break your neck, little lady.”
Michael and Steve are the best skiers I know. In fact, my friend Steve taught me how to ski. They could ski in any sort of conditions so they were taking a run while I was manning up and renting skis. There was no way I was skiing the trails they were on my first day on skis in five years so I looked at a map and decided to head up to the “wild kitten” trail to test my legs. I carried the heavy skis up the hill to the lift and headed up the mountain, on the slowest lift in recorded history, in a snowstorm, first time in skis in a half a decade, by myself. Good times were certain to follow.
I have been on the “wild kitten” before. Hardly anyone goes over there because once you get off the lift (which by the way went pretty smoothly) you have to traverse over to a tunnel (a tunnel that has snow in it which has always mystified me) and then traverse for what seems like a mile over to the easiest trail on the mountain. This was hard in heavy skis and in all that crazy powder, but I persevered and finally got to the down hill part of the trail. Shockingly, I was actually staying upright…sort of. Not only that, I was staying in control, somewhat. I was certainly not going to be hitting any black diamonds but I was doing ok. The snow was so deep there was no sound from the skis on the snow at all. It was showing hard and there was no one on the trail. It was mine to enjoy.
I thought, “Wow, this is so beautiful and peaceful.”
Then I thought, “Wow, I could totally fall and die out here and no one would find me until May.”
I skied the rest of the way down and made remarkable progress with my control. By my final run of the day (which was only two after that one, New England powder is exhausting stuff) I was executing tight little turns and handling the piles of powder with ease. It felt great to be back on skis!
Then I went to the lodge to drink for the rest of the day. Best of both worlds.
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