Why I don’t Ski

“So I want everyone to do the next step and place their feet out so their skis make a backward V,” the instructor said in the bored voice one would expect from someone that has given this lesson a million times. His eyes would occasionally drift to the slopes where everyone else was having fun.

I was still on step one. “What did he say? Something about Bacardi?,” I said as I worked to keep my skis steady. I was of the few humans, apparently, that thought people didn’t belong on long aluminum death sticks that shoot down mountains at the speed of a million miles an hour. And it wasn’t even a mountain we were on. I was skiing for the first time in Gatlinburg, TN on what could only be called a large hill. I realized this later in life when I moved to Denver, Colorado and learned what real mountains were.

“Ok so that’s it. The lesson is over and I want you all to try the bunny slopes first,” the instructor almost yelled as he hurried away to his next lesson or simply somewhere else.

My sister and I looked at each other and then headed towards the bunny slopes. They were easy and it was basically just a few yards of straight hill without the danger of being killed by the oncoming traffic I saw further down. We eventually got bored and I suggested moving to the next level up the “mountain.” Small decisions in life really do matter people.

Things were going great when I set off down the intermediate slope. Speed was good, no one had run into me, I was even able to look around and was starting to realize why people skied when things went drastically wrong. I started speeding up. That V shit that instructor was babbling about. Yea that shit didn’t work. It was like a roller coaster without brakes and suddenly all these people were around me. When did this hill get so crowded? I started moving to the right to maybe intentionally crash and call it quits when I didn’t crash. I started going back up the hill towards the bunny slopes. I heroically threw my body to the side to avoid any human casualties and laid there a minute thankful to be alive. I have never skied again.

Jason

-OM

@smokendust

44.1

47 thoughts on “Why I don’t Ski

  1. I’m with you Jason. Going down hill is great I suppose, but the stopping part never worked for me. “But you gotta try just once more,” I thought as I followed more experience skiers down a slope. “Well that went well,” says I in the fence at the bottom of the run. I’ll stick to snow shoes, thank you.

    Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I found that refusing to leave my home when there’s even one snowflake on the ground eliminates the possibility that someone will grab me from behind, strap sticks to my feet, and send my hurtling to my death at 200 mph. And why the HELL are there trees on ski slopes? Is it some kind of SAW parody?

    Liked by 4 people

  3. We learned to ski at A Basin, now that’s a challenge. But when visited by my NY family who were pro skiers, I got caught on a black slope with my sister. Straight up and down, all moguls. I was sick with fear. Luckily her sense of humor got me down the hill.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Ah, the V “pizza pie.” That time the instructor pushed me down the hill and I almost went over a cliff? Yeah, well, when he reached me I said, “taking these fucking skis off me NOW!”
    “You don’t want to go down the rest of the way” (fifty yards or so)
    I glared at him, yanked the skis off and made my way to safety. Never again!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Hari-Kari, Japan’s answer to, “Do you want to go skiing?”
    There are many reasons why I have no desire to ski, Sonny Bono comes immediately to mind. Other things I have no desire to do:

    mountain climbing (I mean, really, hanging off a precipice by 1/4″ of rope? Gimme a break!)

    sky diving. If people were meant to jump out of a plane they wouldn’t need something to stop them from breaking their necks

    bungee jumping (refer to sky diving and mountain climbing, replace parachute with the 1/4″ rope)

    Liked by 4 people

  6. I faked a sprained ankle in 1st grade so I wouldn’t have to go on the school ski trip in Truckee, CA. We’d just come from living in Panama for a year and all that snow and paraphernalia made me wackie. I limped around for 10 days or so but my father had to keep reminding me….wrong leg-wrong foot. He got it and at that point in my life….he got me. ~~dru~~

    Liked by 3 people

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