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

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28 thoughts on “Why I don’t Ski

  1. Ouch . You do know that when you’re old you break bones more easily ? πŸ˜‚ what we learn in class is with old people two falls and you’re destine for the nursing home πŸ˜‚

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  2. Lol, once the snow plough or ‘pizza’ is mastered – skiing is fun. I learned in the Australia’s Snowy Mountains because my Aussie friends left me on the kiddies slopes until I learned. Didn’t like being on my own, got the hang of it. Until the chairlift! Think of skittles …
    My nearest ski field in NZ was Mount Ruapehu, which is right next to Mount Ngarahoe, Mordor in Lord of the Rings. That’s where I taught my kids the ‘pizza.’ We had fun πŸ™‚

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  3. Tried it once in Seattle – if I lived in an area that snowed, I would want to tackle it, own it.
    Back to you – love the visual I got of you going down, and then back up toward the bunny hill !

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  4. I think they call it the “snow plow” for stopping. I remember when my husband took me down a run called “Nose Dive” there’s a plaque at the top where some one died. It was full of moguls and a very rough run but memorable indeed!
    Leslie

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  5. My thoughts on skiing? Two words: Sonny Bono. Now, sitting in the lodge, by a fire, with a bourbon on the rocks, maybe an apricot brandy? I can get with that. I’ve done lots of stupid, wreck less, and dangerous things over the years. Skiing isn’t one of them.

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  6. Haha, I’ve considered writing a blog on skiing after my first yet-to-happen lesson. I don’t think I’ll make it through standing upright on my “aluminum death sticks” long enough to even hear the complete lesson. πŸ˜€

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I had this experience in 1st and 2nd grades and I faked a sprained ankle to get out of a school ski trip and never strapped those infernal things on my feet again. My dad kept having to remind me to limp on the correct foot. Conniving little 2nd grader was me. ~~dru~~

    Liked by 1 person

  8. So many memories trying to remember the V, or the pizza, or whatever an instructor happened to call it. My sister going full tilt down the bunny hill, screaming bloody murder. Eventually, dumping herself into a snow bank to stop, crying hysterically. But, I did ski again!

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