Skiing at Eldora, Colorado

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.

"Skiing" in Loveland, Colorado

Thumper said it: “If you French-fry when you should pizza, you’re gonna have a bad time.” The result of disobeying? See above.

I was optimistic about skiing. I’ve always wanted to find some physical activity that I take to like a natural, so whenever I try something new, I hope that I may finally find my niche. Unfortunately, I did not take to the slopes like a snowbunny; in fact, I had only just strapped on the boots and clomped awkwardly across the parking lot dragging my rented equipment when my enthusiasm began to fade. (Seriously, how come I can run in four-inch heels but I can’t even walk in a ski-boot???) And once I clipped my feet onto the skies and began a futile though undoubtedly hilarious effort to “walk,” it faded a little more. And then as I was carried up the mountain in the lift watching skiers whooshing stylishly below me, I began to contemplate my own mortality. I am convinced that I will die in a car accident because of a haunting dream I once had, but I began to challenge even that conviction as Glenn pointed out in a misguided effort to excite me the runs we’d be skiing down; they looked awfully steep, and even if I were to die in a car accident someday, there was nothing that said I couldn’t be horribly maimed in a skiing accident in the meantime.

I hated getting off the lift - I really enjoyed the lift - and upon alighting, I promptly fell over, more on purpose than on accident. I had hoped that the steepness of the slopes was the result of a visual illusion caused by the sun glinting off the snow or something stupid like that, but it wasn’t. I managed to get down the mountain by skiing back and forth in a zigzagging course that ran practically parallel to the slope. Whenever I gained too much speed, I would hurl myself to the ground by way of stopping. Glenn commented on my mad “getting up” skills. That’s right. The part of skiing I took naturally to was getting up after I’d fallen - sounds about right.

Three times I did the same run, before they shut the place down. By the third run, I was going a lot quicker - Glenn said I was doing well for my first time - and I could connect my slow zig-zags pretty readily without having to stop and adjust my direction.