One of the most difficult things for me to deal with about skiing is other people (l’enfer, c’est les autres). I spend a lot of time on a run cringing in fear as other skiers and snowboarders narrowly zip around me and imagining how life would be in a wheelchair.
Call me arrogant, but after my great success in Loveland, I was anxious to graduate to blue slopes! So Glenn and I rode the lift aaalll the way to the top of the mountain, where I panicked and spent a good chunk of the day progressing slowly, painfully, and tearfully down the run. Even after I had recovered my composure, I was in a dark mood, no matter how much Glenn tried to cheer me up with his lies about how I was “really improving.” Crestfallen, I retreated to the green slopes, hoping to recapture some of the magic of my last ski outing (yes, there was a magical last ski outing, but due to diaristic procrastination, any enjoyable memories I gleaned that day have been obliterated by this one, so I will not be chronicling that particular trip).
Here’s something I had not considered about the green slopes: they were crowded with other people, namely children (l’enfer, c’est les enfants des autres), all at approximately the same skill level as I am. There is a lot less to fear from skilled snowsporters, no matter how fast they’re going - for instance, they can steer and probably even stop. I cannot, and nor could any of the other people on this slope, so it degraded into a horribly impossible obstacle course of floundering bodies and loose skis. We were the greatest dangers for each other and anyone else unfortunate enough to have turned onto the run.
Still, after a few more runs, I had regained my confidence and I was feeling pretty good about how much better I was doing than the toddlers sharing the slope with me.
Call me arrogant, but after my great success in Loveland, I was anxious to graduate to blue slopes! So Glenn and I rode the lift aaalll the way to the top of the mountain, where I panicked and spent a good chunk of the day progressing slowly, painfully, and tearfully down the run. Even after I had recovered my composure, I was in a dark mood, no matter how much Glenn tried to cheer me up with his lies about how I was “really improving.” Crestfallen, I retreated to the green slopes, hoping to recapture some of the magic of my last ski outing (yes, there was a magical last ski outing, but due to diaristic procrastination, any enjoyable memories I gleaned that day have been obliterated by this one, so I will not be chronicling that particular trip).
Here’s something I had not considered about the green slopes: they were crowded with other people, namely children (l’enfer, c’est les enfants des autres), all at approximately the same skill level as I am. There is a lot less to fear from skilled snowsporters, no matter how fast they’re going - for instance, they can steer and probably even stop. I cannot, and nor could any of the other people on this slope, so it degraded into a horribly impossible obstacle course of floundering bodies and loose skis. We were the greatest dangers for each other and anyone else unfortunate enough to have turned onto the run.
Still, after a few more runs, I had regained my confidence and I was feeling pretty good about how much better I was doing than the toddlers sharing the slope with me.
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