White Stuff Good, Dark Stuff Bad...
This was the basic premise for learning (or re-learning) how to ski, because pizza slice/french fries is too heady a concept for this southerner. So armed with the basic knowledge that snow is good, everything else that isn't snow is a potential hazard, I ventured off on my first adventure of the year.
My wonderful friends invited me to tag along on their weekend ski adventure...which for them was probably just plans, but for me was akin to Sir Edmund Hillary's arctic exploits...However, instead of Everest or the Antarctic, we went to South Lake Tahoe, which is filled with, I can only assume, the very same perils.
Day One:
Our first stop was a desolate stretch of wilderness, that was neither wild, nor desolate, but we did have to guard a parking spot and turn away neon-clad NorCal cool dudes in their subarus. It was basically like fighting very polite grizzlies wearing Patagonia. Ah the wild...
So after successfully defending our turf we donned snowshoes and headed off the path. Apparently there is some trick to walking in snowshoes that I have yet to master, because it seemed like my experience was more like this:
"Snowshoes, forget everything you know about walking and watch as your friends get smaller and smaller, then stop to rest and let you catch up. Then guess what? You finally reach your friends and earn the chance to stop and rest, but no! Your friends are now rested and bored and ready to continue so you forge on without a break....Repeat until miserable, which thankfully won't take long."
Then there was pie + cold brew coffee. This was the highlight of my snowshoeing experience. After it was over we got to eat pie. Pie and cold brew made me really appreciate the outdoors, snowshoes and really the entire experience of forgetting how to walk and testing friendships.
Day Two:
The second day we loaded our skis and other very heavy and unpackable things into the car and headed off to Kirkwood. This began my second ever attempt at skiing, since a bachelor party trip 10 years ago (or something) in Breckenridge. By "skiing" I mean mostly falling over, crossing my skis and watching children on leashes zoom by while I spent most of my time looking like a newborn fawn trying to stand for the first time.
So this was my chance to build on my vast previous experience. Thankfully, the snow wasn't that great and my friends were very willing to help me learn how not to die. This was accomplished mostly by them just telling me every bit of ski advice they had ever learned at me in succession until something they said elicited a positive reaction...then that tidbit would get repeated until it was time to try new and different information overload. I am forever grateful that my friends went down the bunny slopes with me as many times as they did...skiing backwards, often napping and saying encouraging things as I rocketed down the slopes at roughly 1.5mph.
Thanks to their encouragement (peer pressure) and my willingness (fear of saying no) I ended up on a lift to the blue slopes. There is something so peaceful and beautiful about being gently guided up a mountain above it all and getting to take in all the magnificent scenery as you inch your way to almost certain death.
I made it down the blue slopes with one stop atop a particularly steeper part of the slope. My friend said I just stopped there and like a dog that couldn't figure out what their owner is asking of them, turned my head ever so slightly before making a slow turn and continuing without incident down the slope.
His description is a lot kinder than my experience, because what I forgot to tell them was that I am not an ambi-turner...Left turns actually come quite naturally to me as I am able to switch my weight effectively and use my hips in impressive fashion...Right turns, however, are more like a tanker that has lost all control and is drifting slowly, but dangerously into something it should not...It was at this point as I was tanker-turning to the right that I nearly cried, but thankfully I was wearing goggles and no one will ever know. But I made it all the way down to the bottom with nary an oil spill.
I also discovered that the sole purpose of ski boots is profound pain + awkwardness.
Day Three:
On the third and final day of the expedition, I found myself on a longer stretch of the beginner/intermediate slopes and was making amazing progress. Now knowing how to stop and turn (at least the one direction) I felt confident that I could handle anything. I started picking up speed on my runs, feeling the cold bite at my exposed flesh and hearing nothing but swooshing and scraping of ice and wind as I rocketed down the mountain at roughly 4mph. The outside world began to melt away and I was focused only my skis and the terrain; the mountain and I were one! Until I had to turn left, then I fell down, but fortunately the hard bone of my hip broke my fall on snow with all the softness of an ACME anvil. This did nothing to shake my confidence as proceeded at near light speed, ski/crying my way to the bottom of the run. Once the tears subsided I was comforted by a rest and $16 cup of coffee, which both soothed and stressed me out at the same time. We packed the car up after a few more runs and headed back home where I look forward to someday learning how to walk again.
My wonderful friends invited me to tag along on their weekend ski adventure...which for them was probably just plans, but for me was akin to Sir Edmund Hillary's arctic exploits...However, instead of Everest or the Antarctic, we went to South Lake Tahoe, which is filled with, I can only assume, the very same perils.
Day One:
Our first stop was a desolate stretch of wilderness, that was neither wild, nor desolate, but we did have to guard a parking spot and turn away neon-clad NorCal cool dudes in their subarus. It was basically like fighting very polite grizzlies wearing Patagonia. Ah the wild...So after successfully defending our turf we donned snowshoes and headed off the path. Apparently there is some trick to walking in snowshoes that I have yet to master, because it seemed like my experience was more like this:
"Snowshoes, forget everything you know about walking and watch as your friends get smaller and smaller, then stop to rest and let you catch up. Then guess what? You finally reach your friends and earn the chance to stop and rest, but no! Your friends are now rested and bored and ready to continue so you forge on without a break....Repeat until miserable, which thankfully won't take long."
Then there was pie + cold brew coffee. This was the highlight of my snowshoeing experience. After it was over we got to eat pie. Pie and cold brew made me really appreciate the outdoors, snowshoes and really the entire experience of forgetting how to walk and testing friendships.
Day Two:
The second day we loaded our skis and other very heavy and unpackable things into the car and headed off to Kirkwood. This began my second ever attempt at skiing, since a bachelor party trip 10 years ago (or something) in Breckenridge. By "skiing" I mean mostly falling over, crossing my skis and watching children on leashes zoom by while I spent most of my time looking like a newborn fawn trying to stand for the first time.
So this was my chance to build on my vast previous experience. Thankfully, the snow wasn't that great and my friends were very willing to help me learn how not to die. This was accomplished mostly by them just telling me every bit of ski advice they had ever learned at me in succession until something they said elicited a positive reaction...then that tidbit would get repeated until it was time to try new and different information overload. I am forever grateful that my friends went down the bunny slopes with me as many times as they did...skiing backwards, often napping and saying encouraging things as I rocketed down the slopes at roughly 1.5mph.
Thanks to their encouragement (peer pressure) and my willingness (fear of saying no) I ended up on a lift to the blue slopes. There is something so peaceful and beautiful about being gently guided up a mountain above it all and getting to take in all the magnificent scenery as you inch your way to almost certain death.
I made it down the blue slopes with one stop atop a particularly steeper part of the slope. My friend said I just stopped there and like a dog that couldn't figure out what their owner is asking of them, turned my head ever so slightly before making a slow turn and continuing without incident down the slope.
His description is a lot kinder than my experience, because what I forgot to tell them was that I am not an ambi-turner...Left turns actually come quite naturally to me as I am able to switch my weight effectively and use my hips in impressive fashion...Right turns, however, are more like a tanker that has lost all control and is drifting slowly, but dangerously into something it should not...It was at this point as I was tanker-turning to the right that I nearly cried, but thankfully I was wearing goggles and no one will ever know. But I made it all the way down to the bottom with nary an oil spill.
I also discovered that the sole purpose of ski boots is profound pain + awkwardness.
Day Three:
On the third and final day of the expedition, I found myself on a longer stretch of the beginner/intermediate slopes and was making amazing progress. Now knowing how to stop and turn (at least the one direction) I felt confident that I could handle anything. I started picking up speed on my runs, feeling the cold bite at my exposed flesh and hearing nothing but swooshing and scraping of ice and wind as I rocketed down the mountain at roughly 4mph. The outside world began to melt away and I was focused only my skis and the terrain; the mountain and I were one! Until I had to turn left, then I fell down, but fortunately the hard bone of my hip broke my fall on snow with all the softness of an ACME anvil. This did nothing to shake my confidence as proceeded at near light speed, ski/crying my way to the bottom of the run. Once the tears subsided I was comforted by a rest and $16 cup of coffee, which both soothed and stressed me out at the same time. We packed the car up after a few more runs and headed back home where I look forward to someday learning how to walk again.
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