Skiing is for the Insane

Hello my Fluffy Unicorns!! 

Since I never do my New Years Resolution, I decided to do something simple. So my 

resolution is to try new things and then blog about them. Well. Here is the first adventure:

I am not a sports person. In fact one of my teachers classified me as “sports challenged.” Therefore, it makes perfect sense that I have never been skiing. I've always been both terrified and intrigued by it. Since I couldn't come up with anything more fun then gliding through snow on pieces of long plastic, I thought “why not?” Now that I have gone cross country and downhill skiing, I have decided that I will never do it again.

The snow was like white puffy powdered feathers. It resembled a beautiful pillow, so if I fell I wouldn't get hurt at all because it would be there to catch me. Snow fell from the clouded sky covering my eyelashes and my knitted hat. The crisp cold air filled my lungs like helium fills a balloon. The wind whipped up from the North, bringing the calming air quicker to my impatient lungs. I was ready to begin my descent down my driveway.  Since I have never skied before in my life, I thought it safest for everyone (not just myself) that I test it out on my driveway and my bunny hill.

Skiing is skiing whether it’s on Mount Brighton or in my front yard. As long as I have a pair of skis, boots, ski poles and a hill I’m good to go!  This is partly why I chose to go skiing in my front yard. The deciding factor was the fact that I couldn't get out of my driveway because of all the snow we got over the weekend. Back to my delightful endeavor.

I pushed off, sending myself down my driveway. I felt like I was flying. There I was gliding across the packed down snow. I went about five feet before I toppled over into a snow bank. At the sight of this, my mother doubled over in laughter as if this were the funniest thing she had seen in a long time. I was not amused to say the least. Her cackles echoed through the wind so I’m sure people heard her twenty miles away! I promptly sent her inside, and with much assistance from you younger brother, who is fabulous at skiing, I was back on my feet ready to try again. My brother, Peter, likes to cross country ski, so he took me out into our little field where there are little hills and curves for me to ski on. The first obstacle, however, we had to get out to the field.

The snow crushed under my skis as I shuffled through the snow. Peter went first to plow a path for me. Thank goodness, because Lord knows that I wouldn't have made it any farther then the edge of my driveway before I keeled over in complete frustration. The snow continued to fall peacefully, giving the afternoon a comfortable country feel. I gazed up at the trees hanging over me loaded with heavy snow. The pine trees looked like little tee pees covered with snow. It was almost magical. Then I remembered I was on skis. My brother was able to turn with his skis without batting an eye. He glided quickly through the snow like a swan landing on a pond. I was about as graceful as a chicken. I clomped through the snow and had trouble with every turn I encountered. There I was, stomping way through the marshmallow world, utterly confused why people do this for fun. I mean really, I had snow stuffed into every crevice of my boots, my fingers were frozen, and my nose felt like it was going to fall off. True, for one second it was pure bliss.

But that was one second.

I fell a total of five times, and each time my hate of skiing increased. Snow lined the back of my coat, but by that point, I had given up on staying warm.

“So, how do you like cross country skiing?” Peter asked me when we had tramped all around the field.

“I despise it with every bone in my aching body,” I responded through clenched teeth.

Since, I hated cross country skiing so much, my brother thought it would be best if I went downhill skiing.

“Because, you know, that’s so different from cross country skiing,” I thought to myself.

So I climbed all the way up to the top of my driveway again. Thankfully, it wasn't that difficult because when I walk, I walk on my heels, which makes it easier going up the hill in skis. I guess it helped with the traction or something. Anyway, I made it to the top. I was drenched from the melting snow in my coat and from sweat. My glasses were covered in snow making it very difficult to see. My hands and arms were tired from pulling myself along with the ski poles. But I launched myself down the hill with an open mind that maybe, just maybe, downhill skiing would be better than cross country skiing.
Expectation:

Heavens was I wrong! 
Reality:

The only good part about this run was the fact that I made it to the bottom without toppling over and that fall took me ten minutes to get up from (I had to take one of skis off and everything). Needless to say, I was done, utterly and completely done. I stomped back into the house, threw my hat on the heater to dry, dove under the covers of my bed to warm up, and read a comforting book.

This is the complete story of why I do not recommend skiing to any sane person. If your thing is tramping through the snow in skis with every bone aching from falling over, then be my guest. Clearly, I am not cut out to be an Olympic skier, which is fine with me.  Skiing is the worst winter sport in my humble opinion because, you have no control of whether or not you slide around and there are no brakes. Plus, you can die from falling in a twisted position, from getting trapped in the snow, and from flying into a tree. Okay, maybe its not that bad. And even though I think this was an adventure, it is an adventure that I will not be trying again.
God Bless,
~Nina