Why skiing isn’t for me: plan to arrive at 8:30 A for 9:30 A ski school. BP (for you newbies, that’s bitch, please). I’m on vacation. I don’t arrive an hour early for anything! Apply coats, scarves, hats, gloves. Arrive. Remove coats, scarves, hats, gloves. Stand in line. Sign waivers promising that I won’t sue if I get hurt or die. Sounds legit. Off to collect rented equipment (you didn’t really think I’d buy that shit, did you?) Stand in line. Get fitted for ski boots – and by “fitted” I mean that it felt like the boots were so small that they cut off the circulation to my brain. That was obviously their plan (see earlier post where I was asked to purchase annual passes). Guy claimed boots are proper fit. Whatevs. Now, proceed to ski line carrying one snow boot and one ski boot while wearing the mate of each. Helpful attendant instructs me to “walk heel-to-toe… like Frankenstein”. Wait. What? Stand in line. Kid half my age grabs skis and fits them to my boot (more on that later). Sit among the other crazy fools to apply second ski boot. Gather my family and my ski crap. Forgot a helmet which I’ll most likely need/utilize so get back in line. Am informed that goggles are not included with helmet but are highly recommended. Uh huh. Leave rental place for resort store to purchase four pair of ski goggles at $40 each plus four face covers at $25 each (see previous post and pic). #sucker I ask, “do you have bottled water?” since the last hour of ski prep exercise has left me parched and slightly dehydrated. I’m told, “we don’t sell bottled water in the resort but will sell you a roll-up plastic cantina that can be filled at any of our filtered water stations”. WTAF? Whatever, freak. I thought I was in New Mexico not Colorado/California. Purchased roll-up plastic cantina (which will later serve as boot flask) and off to stand in line for filtered water. Re-gather ski crap and fam and head off to find ski instructor. Reapply coats, scarves, hats, gloves plus helmet with new goggles and face cover. Trek my decrepit old ass across the resort to meet up with the other morons in the “first time skier” class – which is clearly, to a point of being embarrassing, labelled with huge, yellow “BEGINNER” flags. Stand in line. Instructor is approximately Mallory’s age and Meredith’s size and is named “Toni” – as in “Tony with an I”. I already hate her. She tries to learn all of our names. (She later called me “Lisa” then “Tina” and then called Mallory “Madeline” then “Madison” then “Meredith”. Very effective. She seemed annoyed when Mallory ignored her. I suggested that she’d get a quicker response if she called Mallory by her actual name. She looked at me, confused. Maybe the cold temps and lack of O2 got to her, too?) Toni instructed me to tighten my helmet chin strap. Translation: “I can tell by looking at you that you’re old, out of shape, and uncoordinated and will most likely bust your ass in the first 15 minutes”. Wrong. It took me at least 20 minutes before falling so joke was on Toni! Wipe frozen snot onto new face cover and gather ski crap and fam again with newly tightened helmet and head to the “magic carpet”. Another helpful attendant informs me that the magic carpet is *just like* the conveyor belts at the airport then adds “if you fall off, walk back down to the start and try again”. Now, y’all, I’ve been on lots of airport conveyor belts – mostly because I’m too lazy to walk it – and have never once been warned about falling off! Stand in line. Step onto “magic carpet” as gracefully as possible and brace myself for impact. Survive first magic carpet and move forward to stand in line for the second one. Dismount successfully – in one piece – with all of my ski crap. Small victories. Gather fam and commence to climb the rest of the way up walking heel-to-toe, like Frankenstein, only to be instructed that it’s toe-to-heel when climbing. Bride of Frankenstein? Take my place in line to learn how to put on and remove my skis – with poles (if standing) or with hands (after falling). Wipe frozen snot from nose again and remind myself that I’m on vacation/having fun all while making a mental note to never agree to ski again. Toni teaches us how to side step and how to “make pizza slices” with our skis. We learn how to fall down and are promised that the snow is soft so “it’s fun to fall”. <roll eyes under new goggles> Meredith vomits the first time. Now, what do skis do to an arthritic, already slow moving old woman? They make her immobile. I remove a package of Kleenex from my snow pants pocket and throw them at Mallory to throw to Coty – who is closer to Meredith. I stand helplessly and watch poor Meredith and earn another “Mother of the Year” award. More side stepping, more pizza slices, and more frozen snot. Meredith begs for a break. I agree and do my last pass of basic skiing – using my skills taught by Toni to turn left and then right. Successful left and not-so-successful right ends in a face plant into the snow. I scream, people look and are met with a glove-shaped bird. I attempt to remove my skis so I can stand up. Toni finally realizes that I’ve fallen and yells over for me to “use my hands” to unlock the skis. For fuck’s sake, Toni. Hands? What hands? I can’t feel my hands! The ski attendant had tightened the ski boots to make sure this old lady couldn’t break loose from her skis easily; so, I lay there in the snow like a swollen tick and awaited help (think Randy from ‘A Christmas Story’ – yelling, “Ralphie, I can’t get up!”). The cuss words coming from under my rented helmet with tightened chin strap would’ve made a sailor blush. Help arrives and I’m freed from my skis. Toni agrees to a break but informs us that we aren’t advanced enough to ski down to the start. So, I gathered my skis, my fam, my frozen snot, and what’s left of my pride and walk down the mountain, heel-to-toe, like Frankenstein. #skischooldropout
That, my friends, was the first and last time I skied.