Boards of Death

I don't ski. I have been skiing, and I may very well ski again someday, but it doesn't light me up, so I don't ski. The monkeys, on the other hand, enjoy skiing. Their scout troop offered a family ski trip this past weekend. It was a bargain rate at $25 for lift, rental and lesson. Add tubing for $8.00 and you have a really cheap day on the slopes. Yeah, it's the Poconos and not the Rocky Mountains, but it's still slippery, and gravity behaves the same way in Pennsylvania as it does in Colorado. The monkeys love it. Everyone wanted to go, and so we signed up, and I volunteered to be the "Lodge Mom", the person who sits inside where it's warm and keeps an eye on all the stuff. The Monkey Prince decided that his girlfriend should go, too. Since it was a family trip, we adopted her for the day, and waking at the crack of dawn, we loaded lunch, monkeys, and monkey admirer into the minivan and headed for the mountain. This was the third year that I've done this, and I actually had quite a nice time. We have a lot of friends through this scout troop. In fact, the other scouts can be a lot like monkeys, too. Well, let's face it. They are BOY scouts. Boys = Monkeys. The scout troop is part of a large archepelago of monkey islands.

We arrived at the appointed time to find other scout monkeys and their parents getting ready to hit the slopes. The Monkey Prince, very taken with his new girlfriend, was such a gentleman, helping her gather her rented equipment and then taking a beginner lesson with her. He's skied before and has had varying success at the sport. Last year, for instance, he was removed from the mountain on a backboard. It was just a precaution, but it's now a legendary event around our dinner table and was recounted over and over during this particular ski day. Given how his ski adventure ended last year, I was quite happy that he took a lesson this year. Everyone needs more than one. Unfortunately, his girlfriend had pretty much the same reaction to skiing that I had. Eh. Nice. Gave it a try. Been there. Done that. They ended up switching to tubing in the afternoon. Other members of our scouting group were doing pretty much the same thing. You see, they are skiers, and so they belong to their own little cultural subgroup.

What makes these people want to attach long boards to their feet, ride to the top of the mountain in a contraption that suspends them 20 feet above the mountain, and then drops them onto an ice flow of death? Are they insane? Is it the altitude and lack of oxygen? I watched as one of our scout dads put forth a somewhat nervous, yet brave face to his three sons, telling them how much fun they'd have on their first ski experience. But he confided to me that he hadn't strapped on the boards of death for over 21 years. Not knowing much about skiing, I assured him that it certainly had to be like riding a bike, and it would come back to him. He didn't seem to believe me, but he smiled, gathered his progeny and headed out to meet the challenge. I saw him some 45 minutes later standing outside the lodge with a face lit up as though he had seen the face of God at the top of the lift. "This is great! We're coming back again next weekend!" Apparently, it really IS like riding a bike.

So, am I missing something? At the age of 42 (that's a mere two years ago, by the way), I spent the day in a private lesson with a very good friend who happens to be a ski instructor. I had an excellent lesson, and she had me headed down the bunny hill within 20 minutes. I have to admit that I did enjoy it. I apparently took to it pretty quickly and was able to at least control myself on the little hills. I even managed the intermediate slope once, though not smoothly and not quickly. But, I had fun and a great sense of accomplishment. So why don't I want to do it again? Simple. Fear of pain.

Look, I'm 44. I'm female. I'm overweight. I have female musculoskeletal anatomy. From about the age of puberty, those swaying hips that once caused men to admire and drool have also inflicted stress upon every joint below my waist. The joints are stressed from walking, running, bearing children, carrying children, chasing children, picking up after children, and occasionally throwing shoes at children. Stuff hurts. And if I fall, I tend to suffer some sort of injury. With injury comes the problem of "Who will take care of EVERYTHING that I do if I can't do it?"
If I had learned to ski when I was younger, I would be a confident woman on the boards of death. I would love the sensation of flying too much to give it up when faced with the possibility of aches, pains, and even serious injury. I understand that beautiful sensation of flying. I have been a figure skater since I was 6 years old. I wasn't very good, or even remotely graceful. But, I could jam my foot into the ice and make a passable single Lutz jump based on what I saw on t.v. I could skate on one foot, do mohawks, swizzles, and long, swift curves over frozen ponds. I could even manage a spin that traveled further than a skipping stone, but I could spin. And it felt like flying. Today, I still put on the little blades and head out onto the ice. I do less maneuvering, but I still love to just stroke my way across a frozen surface and feel like I'm flying. Can I fall and hurt myself? Oh yeah, I certainly could. In addition, in some skating situations, I could break through ice, something that I have, indeed done before. Do I care? Well, a little. But it feels too good to not do it! I HAVE to skate! And now I've added kayaking to my flying repertoire. Ahhh... to glide along nearly silently, to float! It's wonderful!

And, you can do it sitting down! It only hurts getting in and out of the boat! Woo hoo! Something even old people can do!

I doubt I'll ever put on the boards of death again. I might be persuaded to take another lesson and play around on some baby slopes, but I won't ever be a "skier". I won't ever be one of "them", but I'm happy for the people who love to ski. I can relate.