I’ve had a lot of stupid moments in my life. Some I can print. Others I can’t. But the time I went with three of my friends to try skiing for the first time has to be high on the list.
It all started way back in 2002. I say way back because I like to think that I’m older than I actually am because it makes staying at home and doing nothing seem so much more acceptable. But in 2002, Tony, Joey, Julie (a.k.a. Devil Woman) and myself went up to SkyValley for a one-day ski trip.
Now, a little about myself. While I have very little athletic ability, I still always believe that I’m going to be awesome. The entire car trip, I kept thinking that I was going to be so good, so early that they would have to start calling me Jacque and giving me the gold medal.
So we finally get there and I put on my not-so-waterproof jacket and rented my skis. After what seems like an hour, but was probably longer, I eventually get my boots on when I realize that magically my ankles went back to Douglasville to warm up.
My friends convinced me that my ankles were still there and we headed out towards the ski lift. So I could get my balance, and a little practice in, I put my skis on my boots as soon as I walked out of the rental office.
Again, I somehow found myself in an interesting situation. I was on a Nordictrac and I wasn’t moving an inch towards the lift.
After much hard work, I eventually made it to the lift. I was warned by Joey, who was the only person in our group to have gone skiing before, that the lifts do not stop so I had to move into position quickly.
Joey easily got on his lift with the Devil Woman. Tony showed surprisingly nimble moves and bounced onto his lift.
Well, I get easily distracted so I lolly-gagged around and accidently missed the next lift, but I made it onto the one after that.
SNAP! Wondering what that sound was, I looked down and my left ski was ripped off my boot so I was going up to the top of the medium slope with only one ski. I’m sure the people behind me were wondering who the idiot with only one ski was.
I’m sitting on the lift, trying to put both feet on my lone ski, making everyone think that maybe I was just on a really skinny snowboard but I know the attempt didn’t work.
Well, we reached the top of the mountain and Joey jumps off his lift, followed by Julie. They both ski out of the way, but Tony has his feet go out from under him, hits his head on the lift and rolls around on the snow like an injured bear, forcing them to stop the lift.
After a few minutes he finally was able to move out of the way and I get my turn. I can’t ski off the lift so I lunge off and get my first taste of fake snow as I land face-first in the icy terrain. It surprisingly tasted like chicken.
My friends were laughing at me, except Tony who looked like he didn’t know where he was, as I tried to get up. They then find out that I had lost a ski and I was trying to figure out how to get to the bottom and retrieve my ski when a nice young man brought it to me.
“Thanks,” I said with an embarrassed smile, “probably happens all the time.”
“Nope, first time I’ve every heard of it,” he said.
Well, my morale went through the roof with that comment.
Little did I know that I had just had the highlight of the afternoon.
Let’s say that I didn’t enjoy the slopes as much as most people. I was only able to move the a couple of feet at a time before I feel backwards and then it took me forever to get off the ground.
People were passing me every five or six minutes asking me if I was still in the same place.
“Nope,” I always said whether I was or not. “I was about 10 feet higher up last time.”
Joey, bless his heart, did his best to teach me but the truth was shining its bright light into my face letting me know that I was just not a gifted skier.
I heard three different bells signifying the change of the hour while I was up there.
The Devil Woman, who also was skiing for the first time, tried to give me some skiing wisdoms handed down from the Gods.
“Come on Pimpin Scott,” she said. “Just make it to the bottom of the hill on your butt.”
While I do appreciate the advice, I offered her some friendly advice about where she could put her poles if she didn’t stop trying to help me.
I did eventually make it down the slope and I actually had a couple of good runs of about 5-10 feet before I got scared and fell down.
When I made it down to the bottom of the hill, the other three, including Tony who thought my name was Nathan, were already down waiting on me.
That’s when Tony and I decided to call it a day and I officially retired from skiing. I was sore for days and had so many bruises it wasn’t even funny.
But first thing my Mom said when I told her about it was that it would be a “fun family outing.”
Yeah. Fun family outing my butt.