I’m not a real fan of speeding down a hill at an uncontrollable rate, with little control over direction and stopping. Don’t know why, just don’t. Now this may seem a bit incredulous considering some of the other activities in which I participate. But they all have the pretension of some control. Nevertheless, a group of people, none of whom have ever skied, talked me into going along for a ski weekend. Now these were kindred spirits, so how could I refuse? Our destination was one of those small Pocono resorts that bragged their own ski hill.
As soon as we unpacked, everyone headed for the ski lodge. If I were to ask you to describe a ski lodge and hill, it would probably be some large, majestic building, rustic but comfortable, with lots of friendly people, large central fireplaces, and a massive mountain, covered in fine powder snow and impressive lift systems. Our lodge was a modest cement block house. The mountain was more a hill, and covered in a well-packed and glazed covering of what could be called snow, but more appropriately – frozen water. Okay, it probably would work for a first try.
One of the reasons for selecting this particular establishment was that they offered a “beginner’s package” – equipment, “lift” ticket, and a beginner’s lesson. Sounded great. Off we went to pick up the equipment. Boots, skis, poles, we were ready. Lessons, who needed lessons? We were all relatively young and in good shape. Surely, it can’t be too hard to ski. Besides, we had every intention of only going a little ways up the hill. This was about the same time period I had decided to become a SCUBA diver also.
Next stop, the lifts. Okay, here’s where things go downhill, and we’re already at the bottom of the hill. The ski “lift” consisted of a pulley at the bottom and one at the top of the hill, with a rope loop constantly revolving. The idea, after watching more experienced participants, was to set your skis to go forward, grab the rope, and let it pull you up the hill. I can do that. A little unsteady at first, I quickly get the hang of it. Just then it hits me, how do I get off? No way I wanted to go to the top of the hill on my first try. I wanted to do the bunny hill thing. Whenever I eased up on my death grip on the rope, I began to slide backwards. And the next group of people behind me was getting closer. Only one thing to do. I lunge to the side, making a very ungraceful pile along the side of the towpath. But I did get off the rope to the summit before actually reaching it. Only problem was that I was halfway up the hill. That’s about four times the height I wanted to start at.
I contemplated taking the skis off and walking down the hill to a more “acceptable” first try. The hill did not look this high from the bottom. But I was young, and I was foolish, so why not. Down I began. Now, my perception of skiing as speeding uncontrollably down a hill was gained firsthand – this was it. After the first wave of panic, I actually began to achieve some sense of balance. I was skiing. I didn’t know how to turn or stop, but I was holding my own, zooming down a mountain. I had fallen only once or twice when I started out. The new jeans I was wearing (ski outfits weren’t part of the package) left blue streaks in the snow marking those falls.
My triumph was short-lived. Just at the base of the hill, directly in my path, was a group of skiers getting their free introductory beginner’s lesson. You remember, the one I didn’t need. The instructor was waving frantically for me to turn away from my obvious destination, right for the class. I didn’t take the lesson. I didn’t know how to turn. And I was going way to fast too consider a crash landing on that hard-looking snow.
It didn’t take long for the dozen or so class members to realize I wasn’t turning aside. As mass hysteria took control, they all began to shuffle their skis back and forth in an attempt to get out of my way. Obviously, they hadn’t got to the part in the lesson where you step in your skis. They just kind of shuffled their skis back and forth without going anywhere. The vision of all those people, looking very panicked due to this maniac headed straight for them, shuffling in place and not being able to go anywhere, should have been a very humorous moment for me. And it would have been if I wasn’t having my own moment of panic.
To this day, I’m really proud of the fact that I sped right through the middle of the whole class, running over at least six pairs of skis, without falling and without knocking one participant over. I didn’t stick around to catch everyone’s expression. I couldn’t stop, remember. I kept going until I hit the snow fence. Luckily I had enough head start to remove my skis, hand them back in at the office, and retire to the lodge bar before the instructor caught up. Hey, I did her a favor. Every one of those students would listen really hard to her instructions from then on.
As I sat there in the lodge, drinking a suitable relaxant, I watched person after person leave long streaks in the snow, as they crashed and slid on the miserable cold stuff, and I smugly thought to myself – “maybe this was a good thing.”
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