The winter months are the most busy and most stressful time for Greg’s job. He works long hours and works more when he gets home from work and the kids have gone to bed. This last week I noticed that Greg needed to get out, sans kids. So I planned a ski date for us. He was excited to say the least. I, however, was not.
I chose skiing because Greg loves it, and ever since we have been together he has always wanted to take me. I really could care less about being in the great outdoors. But I do these things because he loves them. I have gone jet skiing, boating, to the beach, mountain biking, and now skiing, for him. And he does things for me. For instance, he will sometimes sit around on the couch for awhile or go running. As these are things I love to do. It’s really a give give in our marriage!
I went skiing twice last year but it wasn’t real skiing. I was only ‘learning’ to ski. I didn’t go up or down a real hill and I rode the magic carpet with kindergarteners. So to plan a ski date was very ambitious of me and to say I was scared shitless was an understatement. I should’ve backed out of the date when I almost got hit in the head with the trunk of Greg’s truck. I should’ve known better because every disaster starts with a knock to the noggin, right?!
As we entered the lodge I whipped through the ski rental area and walked out with my helmet on and the elastic strap to my glove stuck inside my helmet allowing my hand to only move a few inches away from my face before slapping back. At that moment I said something along the lines of,”I feel like I’m in Dumb and Dumber right now.”
Greg made the executive decision to skip the bunny hill and go up the big hill because the bunny hill is the same steepness of the bigger hill, just shorter. I started to get the nervous windy pops right about the time we stepped on to the ski lift and 6 other people filed in behind us, cramming in like sardines. Funnily, being on a ski lift like this is much like an elevator. Everyone whispers as if to respect the other patrons in the building, or in this instance the nervous chick shaking in the corner hugging the pole on the side of the lift car; me. I asked Greg how long it would take him to get down the hill. He replied with, “A minute or two, maybe.” Ok, so I think I can do this. That doesn’t seem that long.
When we exited the lift and put our skis on I quickly realized I had no muscle, or brain, memory for how to ski. I mean, like none. I laugh about it now, but at the time I had a real fear of how I was going to get down!
At this point Greg starts to realize he made a huge mistake taking me up this hill, because it was clearly apparent I was not going to be able to get down easily. But we had to get down somehow and skiing seemed logical. We started to go and I was following Greg and could not get me bearings AT ALL. About 1/3 of the way down the first part of the hill Greg decided it was a good idea to just slide sideways down the hill, so he stopped. I, however, was still moving forward, right towards him. Thankfully he can handle himself of his skis and was able to stop me as I slammed into him. Phew! I’m no longer flying forward out of control. And then, it happened. I started to go down the hill again, only this time I was going backwards. And instead of letting go of Greg, I grabbed on more tightly and said something along the lines of “S$^% GREG S^%&!” To which he yells his famous last words of “Just Fall!!!!” So, I fall. And I slide 50 down the hill BACKWARDS and then hit a bump and flipped myself forward facing and continued to slide 15 more feet down the hill. So there it is. I ate snow. Big time.
A nice snowboarder stopped to bring my ski poles from where I originally fell and then continued to collect my skis that were peppered around us. He asked me five times if I was ok because, “Man, you slid backwards and then flipped pretty quickly!” Thanks, thank you for that recap. Got it. And no, I wasn’t really ok. At that point I couldn’t feel my left hip or thigh because when I flipped I landed on the boot or ski or something of my other leg.
Then the ski patrol showed up and carried my skis down to a flatter part of the hill while Greg walked down the hill with me. After wiping my tears and snot, I clipped my skis back on and we continued down the hill. Slowly. Very slowly. Remember when I originally asked Greg how long it would take him to get down the hill? He said a minute or two, tops. It took me AN HOUR to get down the hill. A WHOLE HOUR!
I kept going though because I couldn’t let my crappy skiing ruin Greg’s day. We made it back up and down the hill three more times and I only fell once, gracefully.
God bless Greg! The man could’ve cared less if I gave up after the first hill or continued on. As long as he was with me, nothing else mattered. And, I have to say that even though I have a 6-inch diameter bruise on my left hip that Greg says “looks like a galaxy”, I will go skiing again. Greg even said he will lend me his padded hockey pants. Love, true love!