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My adventures in skiing

Updated on January 21, 2012

One of the best things about being a part of hubpages is the chance to read other hubbers memories. Reading Femur by PDXKaraokeguy took me down my own memory lane. He has a great story and an awesome video! Check it out if you get a chance. But please read my story first! I hope you like it.

It was the week after Christmas and my family was vacationing in Colorado. We had already visited Breckenridge, enjoyed a day of snowmobiling in Vail, and now we were going to try our skill at skiing in Telluride. Since we had not been skiing before, lessons were in order. My mom took my younger sibling and joined the kid’s class. I was now a grown up teenager and able to be a part of the adult class with my Dad. The lesson began with instructions on how to stop, using the snowplow method. Once everyone had mastered that simple skill, we were to be introduced to the ski lift and continue the teaching on the bunny slope. The rule was that no one would go on to the lift until everyone could snowplow. This was unfortunate for the rest of the class, because no matter how hard we tried, neither my dad or I could figure it out enough to get ourselves stopped. We spent the whole hour slipping down the hill on wobbly legs trying to push out the back of our skis while tucking in the front in an effort to make that magical “v” that would somehow bring us to a stop. I can’t even begin to imagine what everyone else was thinking. About 15 minutes into the class, we saw my little sister and brother heading for the ski lift. They had no problems. I’m sure they were laughing at us as we kept planting our back ends in the snow in a frantic effort to stop when our hard work failed. Needless to say, our class never made it to the ski lift that day. Everyone else was welcome to come back the next day at no charge to finish the lesson. My dad and I weren’t invited. We would have probably been too embarrassed anyway.

Having failed miserably at downhill skiing, the next winter we decided to give cross country a try. We were visiting friends in upstate New York, when they suggested we join them in some cross country skiing. They assured us that although it was hard work, we would be just fine. The course went over a golf course and through the woods. (and I am sure it went to someone’s grandmother’s house) The golf course was actually a lot of fun. The hills were little and there was no reason to stop in the middle of them. I could just let myself go down the side and then across the flat course until I coasted to a stop. There was no need for the dreaded snowplow. The woods were fun too. It was peaceful and beautiful. We were with good company and everyone was having a great time. Until, we came to the Hill. It wasn’t a big hill, but it was a steep hill. A path ran along the bottom of the hill. On the other side of the path was, much to my despair, the forest. There was no room here to coast along merrily. It was turn or stop. Since I couldn’t turn any better than I could stop, that wasn’t really an option either. For some reason, I was chosen to go first. I stood at the top for a long time in fear and dread. The woodland at the bottom was dense with shrubs, bushes and saplings. I just couldn’t see a way for me to coast through it. Finally, I gave in to the prodding of my family and friends and pointing my skis straight ahead, started down the hill. I started my attempt at the snowplow almost immediately in hopes that a miracle would occur and I would find myself stopped or at least slowed by the time I got to the bottom. It was not to be. I crashed into the underbrush and found myself flat on my back looking up through the canopy of trees above me. To my horror, my skis were tangle up in a small sapling and I couldn’t get free. No matter how hard I tried, there was no way I could get up. I couldn’t even get my feet out of my boots so I could roll over and get up that way. My dear family was laughing hysterically at the top. No one would come rescue me. Finally, a kind stranger stopped to help me out of my dilemma. I wasn’t hurt and finished the course as gracefully as my wounded pride would let me.

Years later, my boyfriend (now husband) took me skiing one more time. He showed me how to turn on skis and told me that if I wanted to stop, all I needed to do was to ski uphill. It was that easy. I finally conquered the bunny hill!


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