For the first time in my adult life I went downhill skiing. I had gone once as a ten year old on a school outing, and never left the bunny hill. In fact, I not only never passed the bunny hill (nor did I really want to for that matter) but I also managed to hit a fence and come within feet of a parked car. So, my history with skiing wasn't great. But, an opportunity to go with my church presented itself, and I figured I was due another attempt. I figured if nothing else, I would have a good story to tell.
While sitting in the chalet awaiting our group to get our gear, I remember watching people walk by who looked considerably more experienced than I was. My first thoughts were: "I am out of my league." And I was - I came with zero experience, unless you want to count that blip on the screen fifth grade ski trip as 'experience.' As out of my league that I was, I was determined to get past the bunny hill and see what I could do as a man versus what a terrified, husky 10 year old boy did all those years ago.
I got "fitted" with my ski boots. They didn't have my size so they gave me the next biggest boot available. These things felt HUGE on my feet. I could barely bend my knees because the ankle support went up so high. Then, I was "fitted" with some skis. I had to go back twice because my left foot kept coming unclipped. I tried not to take that as a negative omen.
There was no one on the bunny hill. Not a soul. So, I decided I was going to take my training to the "Easy" hills and go from there. I convinced myself I would learn better going faster - similar to my guitar hero preferences. I was warned ahead of time not to underestimate the chair lift. This advice proved comforting only in the sense that when I did in fact fall flat on my face while disembarking, that I felt slightly more justified in my clumsiness. I mean, face-planting is never an enjoyable experience, nor is face-planting with an audience. It's also not an enjoyable feeling when, flat on my side and struggling to get out of the way (so the chair lift can resume after stopping for me) when everyone just carries about their skiing, with no thought of lending me a hand. Jerks. I was totally helpless. I had to beg someone for their assistance. They sort of stopped, but I wouldn't say that they helped. I had to laugh to myself because I still had to figure out a way to get down the hill.
Much to my delight, I received a very quick response to my prayer for help. After I managed to get to my feet (which was exhausting and humiliating), my supervisor and his daughter arrived, followed by (Saint) Nick. Recognizing a lost cause, Nick offered his instructional services to me, which I promptly accepted. With Nick's help I managed to get down the hill. Notice that the word "successfully" was intentionally omitted from that last sentence. No, I got down the hill alright, but it was anything but successful. I had at least five "yard sales" as the skiing world calls them - total wipe-outs, crashes, face-plants, etc. You don't just fall, you fall hard and everything goes everywhere. That was me - the Yard Sale guy. I'd get going and unable to slow down, I'd freak out and fall in order to stop. Being told to "turn" was probably the most ridiculous thing a person could say to a rookie like me. Thankfully, Nick told me how to turn and showed me what it looked like and offered specifics when I asked for them. He was encouraging and understanding. We shared a lot of good laughs at my expense, too - which was helpful because instead of frustration mounting, I stayed relaxed and patient as my knowledge and experience went through its natural growing and learning phase.
Eventually I started to get the feel of being on those skis and was able to experiment with turning from side to side. Unfortunately, once I was so focused on the side to side turning that I took my eyes off where I was going and ended up turning onto a steeper medium level run. That was not a good self-esteem builder to say the least. More Yard Sales. I managed a few nice recoveries here and there and had enough self-awareness to give myself a dinner break after reaching the bottom.
Perhaps the most aggravating and annoying moments of my ski adventure came from the dozens upon dozens of people (mostly the kids from my confirmation class) asking me: "Hey Pastor Keith - how many times have you fallen?" Little jerks... Kick a man while he's down. Ugh, I hated this question. Talk about bringing me to my bad place. The reality was that I hadn't fallen as much as I thought I would, but being a first-time skiier apparently sticks out like a white guy with an afro. What is it with people loving to celebrate another person's misery anyway? For instance, Rebecca and I have found ourselves pretty lucky with Natalie. But we are finding it difficult to give honest responses to people who ask, "so, is she sleeping through the night?" Their tone usually implies that they are eager to hear us whimper and whine about our lack of sleep... so when we say "yes - most nights" - they give us a dirty look and somehow we end up feeling guilty for having a good baby. Fact is, we would be much better off lying and telling them how awful our nights have been and how stressed out we are. "Misery Loves Company" - so, so true. So, long story short, I loathed their lack of encouragement and negative questioning regarding my skiing ability. But, it definitely served as ample motivation.
When I came out after eating my over-priced chicken tenders and guzzling a Powerade, I was ready to prove myself. Well, almost. I kind of wanted to call it quits. I was drenched from head to toe, my fingers were frigid and I was on my own for the remainder of the night. But, I went up the lift anyway (which I had mastered by the way thanks to advice from Saint Nick.) And, wouldn't you know it, I mastered "Hawaiian Cruise" (the easiest run) by descending five consecutive times without falling. I was turning and burning - it was awesome. And even better, my first successful time down the hill was witnessed by some church members who celebrated by giving me high fives and congratulations. It's great to share success and celebrate with others - that was a big boost for me. I continued my mastery the remainder of the night. I even conquered a medium level hill by the end of the night.
I realized that if I could just stay on my ski's I would be okay. It's like that scene in Happy Gilmore when he hits a hole in one and is like, "Oh, man. That was so much easier than putting. I should just try to get the ball in one shot every time." Falling down and figuring out how to stand up again was awkward and exhausting and it wore me out. This was motivation enough to fight through the urges to hit the eject button every time I hit a rough patch or got scared. When I was really cruising, I just felt like yelling, "I'm Skiing!!!" similar to when in Bob yells "I'm Sailing!" in What About Bob? Not falling seems like a simple goal, but I honestly felt safer falling down at first rather than trying to work through it to stay upright. Obviously, it turns out that skiing is much easier and more enjoyable when you're not doing Yard Sales all the time.
All in all it was a good time. It's too bad it took me 22 years to go skiing again, I really enjoyed it, yard sales and all - just as long as no one asks me how many times I fell. (About 12 good solid wipe-outs and 3 Mega Yard Sales if you really must know!)
