Why I Don't Ski (Part I) - Or, When Anticipation leads to Fear, which leads to Snow in my Face

Let's start off by stating that Andrew is an excellent skiier. He could win an amateur's Olympics. Ok, he'd probably place. But the point is he's pretty fabulous at skiing.


FABULOUS!

Because of his ease on the slopes, he naively assumed it would be easy for everyone, including me. Boy, was he wrong.

He brought me to our local ski hill to teach me. I was wearing a nice pair of blue ski boots we had bought specially for the occasion, a pair of ripped up black ski pants and a hideously pouffy off-white marshmellow-looking coat that makes me look like a pale and sickly Albanian boy. The hat, gloves and scarf did not match anything either. I basically looked a hot mess.

If only I knew that my fashion results would predict my skiing results...

We went inside the lodge to rent me some skis and poles. Of course they were red, in order to not match anything. Still, at this point I was still confident that this would be a wonderful learning experience.



To better visualize. Also, what a
pointless Pokemon.

We reached the bunny hill, Andrew expertly walking in his skis, me flopping around behind him. Think Magikarp, but standing, on skis. I then learned that I was supposed to get to the top of the hill by grabbing onto a metal bar, which would pull me up. Essentially forcing me to ski uphill before I even learned how to ski in the first place.

I stood next to the ski tow while Andrew tried to coax me on it, as bar after bar passed me. I just shook my head while five year olds cut in front of me and hooked onto the ski tow like total pros. Finally (probably with a promise of giving me cookies later) I got into place as it pulled me. As soon as I started slowly going up the hill, things were going figuratively going downhill for me.

In case you can't properly envision
it based off of my description.

Let's start off with the fact that I'm pigeon toed. This means my feet have a tendency to point inwards.

Side note: I make an awesome pigeon sound. I once hid all around Cow Eye's apartment, making cooing sounds until she found me. Come to think of it, I've done that to numerous friends.

It was at that point, while trying to ski uphill, that I realized that being pigeon toed and attempting to ski weren't really compatible. This was discovered as I continuously ran my skis into each other, tripping myself while being towed up the bunny hill. I swore a lot. After what seemed like an hour, we finally reached the top.

Andrew then showed me proper form and how to brake. I started down the hill.

After about ten seconds of skiing, I realized that I was going WAY TOO FAST OH MY GOD THIS IS SO FAST I'M GONNA DIE!


How it felt.

The speed I was probably going.

I was so panicked, I forgot how to break properly. But at that point, I was so terrified and desperate to stop that I was willing to do so in any way possible. So I threw myself on the ground.



Oooooo, Wipeout.

Right then and there, I decided that skiing was more dangerous than juggling knives, fighting an angry unicorn or cooking a big ball of aluminium in a microwave.

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Part II - The Ugly Cry will be posted tomorrow.

Believe me, it wasn't pretty.