I've been a little bit out of the action the past week. I contracted some sort of non-swine flu illness thing-a-ma-jig and was only interested in a block of cheddar, and 30 Rock. In addition, Colorado had a pretty unseasonable blizzard and shrouded itself in 27 inches or more of snow for two days. The urge to sing Christmas carols was unbearable. However, I was not about to let Colorado's disregard for the season peer pressure me into making the same mistake.
The mass amounts of snow reminded me of one of my best, and most embarrassing, ski stories ever. Since today is Halloween, a celebration of oddness and treats, this story seems to be the perfect morsel for you.
To set the tone, I have to tell you about my husband's bff. I could say friend but that wouldn't really do their relationship much justice. Before "bromance" and "man-dates" were a part of the common vernacular Tyler and Brady were years into, their term here, a heterosexual life-partnership. They have Guy Love. They don't live in the same city, they only see each other about once a year, and yet, they don't seem to miss a beat with each other. It's really quite incredible. Some might be wondering: "How is she not jealous of such a connection?" I am not jealous because this friend played a key role in reigniting the spark between Tyler and I (some even speculate that it might not have happened if Brady had not asked Tyler why we broke up). Also, I don't have to pretend to understand how Chauncy opened up the back court; he's got someone there for him to be excited with him. Win, win, WIN.
Anyway, Brady and his wife, Liz, came to visit and get some quality time in skiing up at Winter Park. We joined them for a few days and it was really great to see them. Tyler and Brady needed some QT with one another and the NCAA tournament so they sent the wives off for a day of skiing/boarding. (They might have come if Tyler had not just had knee surgery, but I'm inclined to think that they would have stayed in no matter what the circumstances).
It must be said that I am not a premium boarder. Over the last five years, I was in school during the week days and working on the weekend, equating to little or no time to hit the slopes. I did get pretty good in high school, and was decent enough to teach some friends how to board my first year of college. However, five years is a significant gap of time, and I am currently relearning how to get off the dang lift. This said gap in snowboarding practice was ever evident during this wives-only ski day.
Liz is a good skier. She can get on and off the lift with out a flailing tumble, and she stays on her feet down the entire run. I cannot say either thing is true about myself. Fortunately, she was totally awesome. She helped me get out of the way of the people dismounting the lift and dodging my ski gear, now strewn about the snow. She even pretended like it wasn't the most awkward and uncoordinated thing ever when I fell off the lift and skidded into a group of skiers looking at a map. This is all true people.
Finally, on my way down the hill, I come up with a solution to not fall. If only both of my feet were trapped into my board, then I could get off and sail down the mountain like Shawn White. I might even do a mogul or two! I meet up with Liz at the line to the express lift (which is exactly what it sounds like to all who have not done the downhill thing) and tell her my brilliant plan. She nods and offers me a ski pole to use to maneuver through the line. Liz is a skier and cannot be held accountable for my poor choice, however, the snowboarders in line can be. If you see me groping the line dividers on my way to get on the ski lift, for the love of humanity, HELP ME OUT BECAUSE I'M CLEARLY MAKING A POOR CHOICE HERE.
I toil my way to the front of the line with both feet firmly bound into my board. The attendant scanning the lift tickets motions to us to step up to the line to wait for the chair to come pick us up. Mid-sentence his eyes pop out of his head and he begins motioning to my legs and yelling "YOU CAN'T! YOU HAVE TO UNSTRAP, YOU HAVE TO UNSTRAP!" But the EXPRESS LIFT is already turning the corner of the pulley, and I think that to bend down and unstrap my foot would result in my demise and unfortunate loss of my head. Being rather fond of my head, I opt to "try" the chair lift despite his advice.
I now know what it is like to be underhand tossed into a mountain. I know this because the lift came at its express rate, lifted me, feet bound, and threw me face first into a few feet of snow. I imagine it looked like a cross between Clark Griswald being electrocuted by Christmas lights (as seen to the left), and an epic bellyflop. A face-first plummet, three or four feet through the air, into a mound of snow.
Reminder: I am getting on the ski lift. There are people in line, in prime position to witness my poor decision and subsequent drop. From the back of this line of people a woman's voice chimes "Lesson Learned!"