Waxing Sentimental

We just got back from our annual ski trip this past week. It's tradition that every year we go to the slopes for Superbowl weekend.

I have found the ipod to be quite revolutionary to my skiing.

Here are my conclusions for favorite songs to ski by:

Green slopes:

H.A.P.P.Y Radio by Edwin Starr (Album Disco Gold ;o)
Glamorous Life by Sheila E
They're playing our Song by Trinere
Hella Good by No Doubt

(uh oh, my age is showing)

Blue Slopes:

Surrender by Cheap Trick
Vengence by Garmarna
Jam the Box by Pretty Tony (very 80's stuff)
Planet Rock by Old School Players (early hip hop so very 80's)
...update - I forgot to add Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones last night when I originally posted!

Black Slopes:

Cry by Tesla
Symphony of Destruction by Megadeath
I'm not Okay by My Chemical Romance
Bump by Rehab

Which brings me to wax sentimental about the first time I ever attempted to ski.

I was on the cusp of turning 30, and wanderlust was setting in. I had an 18 month old toddler, and frankly, was not feeling so hot about myself and was really not liking feeling locked to just working and child rearing. This is not usually a good thing for me because my sense of adventure and my sense of mortality get tangled up when this happens and it can lead to some very odd circumstances.

I thought to myself, "Self..." pregnant pause... "...we must do something fabulous!!"
Skiing is what fabulous, rich people do, so we must try it. Let's shake things up a bit!!! Besides, they generally have day care and ski schools for kiddies so we could do this as a family outing some day!!!

So, not having a clue, I bleached the crap out of my hair, then I booked a 5 night, 6 day ski trip to Killington, Vermont. I thought well really, how hard could it be? You just slap on a couple of sticks and slide down a hill....

For those of YOU who have no clue. Killington is the most badassest mountain of the East Coast. Who knew? I sure as hell didn't. That said, I went SHOPPING. Oh, I bought a fabulous purple bunny suit, complete with fur collar and fancy headband. I got the c-a-utest gloves to match, and of course some bitchin' sunglasses to finish the look. My husband got some bibs, and a beanie, and a jacket.

So we get to our inn - a wonderful, quaint little place with cardboard for walls and packed with half of the population of Newark, New Jersey. There were like, 10 people staying in the room next to us, and they would NOT shut up all night until about 3a.m. when my inner Redneck kicked in and I went to bang on THEIR door screaming for them to shut the hell up. It is customary for my husband to look away and simply pray at these moments (and prep for cleanup.) So needless to say, I was not starting out at my personal best on the first day.

So we take our gear and I head to the bunny slopes. I have my fabulous outfit on, and I am just so very Heidi of the Swiss Alps with my braids and cute headband and fabulous look. Hubby is not amused and insists that the green slope will be just fine for me and that the bunny slopes are a waste of time. So up we go. So on the lift he is instructing me on how to dismount, and do the "pizza" or "wedge" to come off the lift. I was okay for about 3 seconds until I did a customary face plant coming down the hill off the lift. Think penquins on a waterslide. .................Pause for VISUAL................. Okay. So after about 10 runs of plowing in a significantly ungraceful posture down the green slope Hubby says we should go down the mountain. But there were a few small caveats.

1) Unbeknownst to me - green, blue, and black level designations at ski destinations are not STANDARD. They are relative to that particular mountain. And this was a particularly difficult mountain.
2) The winds had been getting up that day, and they were only running limited lifts and opening selected slopes at the top of the mountain.
3) Everyone at the resort that day had been skiing since they were embryos, and they were bowling for Southerners as well...
4) Hubby could actually SKI. I didn't really understand this when we got there, but when I mentioned that he appeared to be experienced, and asked why he didn't tell me he was a good skier, he replied "you didn't ask." (you gotta love my man of few words - and no, we really didn't talk much about the trip before going, he pretty much lets me take care of everything then he shows up to drive, cart luggage, and provide amicable company.)

So we get down to the quad lift. Shouldn't we check to see if the green slope is open. "NO" states hubby, "they wouldn't close the green slope." Are you sure??? "YES." aggravation apparent "Just get on the lift." Are you really sure?? "Get on the..." Okay, Okay...

Up we go.

When we reached the top (you gotta love East Coast skiing) the entire stretch of slope was solid ice. The wind was blowing so hard it would move you along the area completely involuntarily.

The Green slope was closed.

So I did what any self-respecting woman would do.

I began to CRY.

So Hubby scoots down to bottom of hill and insists that I come along too. So off we go..... I immediately fell at the bottom of the first hump - not graceful or pretty or anything - but something akin to laying a turtle on its back... I fell backwards with my skis up under me, knees down and forward, feet pointed toward flattened backside. I was STUCK.

So now I'm laid out like an oyster on the half shell, with people literally jumping over me, slobbering like a St. Bernard and my face starting to freeze from the tears and goo emanating from my deteriorating, terrified self. Oh and in case you didn't know, ski patrol won't help you down if you're afraid, they only help you down if you're like, mortally wounded...

A nice individual from out of nowhere eventually came up behind me, lifted me from under my armpits and shoved me down the hill. Which was fine but in order to make sure I didn't miss the 90 degree turn at the bottom of the hill (to make the turn meant you would LIVE... to not make the turn meant sure and instant DEATH off the side of the mountain.) So I ended up embedded in the side of the trail where they had scooped out the snow for the slope. Kind of like the character Two Face in the Batman sagas - one half in the snow frozen, the other poking out desperately waving for somebody to help.

Ohhh, I'm having so much FUN!!! >o( Um.... NOT!

I spit, swore, clawed, sat on my fanny and slid, picked, stepped, cried, panicked, rinsed, repeated ALL THE WAY DOWN THAT DAMN mountain. I looked at my husband when we finally reached the bottom (I'm pretty sure it took me about 4 hours) and said:

"I am GOING to THE BAR. YOU DO WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT TO!!!!!"

Minus one braid, with one side of my bunny suit torn, one glove on - one lost, mascara running down my face, and one sorely bruised bum and one sorely bruised ego. I took myself to the bar and had about eight Singapore Slings. I felt much better after that.

The next day I took a lesson.

To this day, I'm sure if I hadn't had four more days of lift tickets, I'd have quit right there on the spot.

I have since ditched the whole fashion thing, and now I opt for the international terrorist look. It tends to be considerably more functional for kicking butt on badass mountains now and is way more functional. Although I did buy some really funky periwinkle and white polka dot goggles this trip to make me the coolest mom on the mountain...