Bunny hill? No way!

Photo by  asoggetti  on  Unsplash

Photo by asoggetti on Unsplash

I've only been skiing once in my life and I didn't spend the day on the bunny hill.

When I was in 7th grade, my friend Christy invited me on a one-day skiing trip with her family. Somehow I managed to talk my parents into letting me go. 

I had admired the lift tickets that hung off of the jackets of my more fortunate classmates. Some seemed to go skiing every weekend. I wanted one of those lift tickets too. I wanted to fit in. 

The trip up to the slopes didn't take long. It was one of the benefits of living at the foot of the Wasatch mountains in Utah. We arrived and I was beyond excited.

I had never worn a pair of ski boots. I had never had a pair of skis locked to the bottom of those ski boots or even held a ski pole. But there I was in the rental shop getting decked out. 

Christy and I stood there at the bottom of the mountain. She showed me how to snowplow. I wasn't so good at snowplowing, besides that was for kids. I wanted to ski, you know, the normal way.

Ten minutes later Christy and I were waiting in line at the ski lift. I wasn't paying much attention to the technique or how fast the lift was going. I was more interested in looking at boys. Before I knew it, it was our turn to get on.

It all happened so fast. I wasn't prepared and almost fell off when the seat swung out over the ledge. We climbed higher and higher and I hung on for dear life. Every time we passed over one of the connections on a pole, I said a little prayer. 

I made it to the top of the mountain without falling off. I thought I was home free. Turns out getting off the lift is as harrowing, or even more so, than getting on. I ended up in a heap at the bottom of a small slope, causing the people following us to have to maneuver around me to avoid a pile up.

I righted myself and I was ready to go. The lodge was a long, long way down there. Christy waited for me for a bit but I told her to go on. I would find my way down at my own speed. I got really skilled at falling over.

I made my way down the hill celebrating every recovery and non-lethal fall I took. It thought it was going pretty well. It wasn't until I fell over and one of my skis popped off that I was in trouble.

I probably should have paid more attention to how the bindings worked. I fumbled around in the snow for a while before a fellow skier stopped to help me. With a little help, I was back on the slope sliding and falling my way down the mountain.

I could have spent the day learning the basics. That might have been the smart thing to do but it just wasn't for me. I'll probably never go skiing again. I don't really like the cold. But that's okay. I went skiing once and I didn't spend the day on the bunny hill.