Hopefully you won't be disappointed, but this is not a drinking story, it is a skiing story. I am not really a skier (neither is Tate), but we can't live less than two hours from the best skiing in the world and not try it. So with two rollover, "use it or lose it" vacation days and a killer hotel recommendation from our friends, we booked our Valentine's ski weekend. Neither of us had skied in at least a decade and that was on the hills of Ohio. So you can understand my angst about subjecting our 50+ year old joints to ski slopes with an 1100m elevation change.
To alleviate some of my anxiety, I scheduled a private lesson for mid morning of our first day. Patrick, the owner of the ski school, knew we were American and matched us with his best English speaking instructor, Jazzi. After the introductions, we headed to the "bunny" slope. I have never understood why they think t-bars are an appropriate option for novice skiers to reach the top of the hill. Nevertheless, I worked up my courage and got into place when out of the blue Tate came right beside me. I knew the chance that I was going to embarrass myself somewhere between the bottom and the top was high, but now it had doubled. The attendant might have said, "don't sit down" in German but neither of us was paying attention. It was an ugly, awkward, ski jumbled mess to the top, but we made it. It must have been obvious to that attendant because EVERY time after that, he made a point to walk over to the controls and slow it down for our pick up. I'm sure he meant it to be an act of compassion instead of mocking judgement.
The lesson was great and we spent the rest of the afternoon practicing on the two blue runs that were attached to the t-bar lift. [Side note- there are three levels of runs in Europe: blue (steep), red (really steep) and black (make sure your affairs are in order steep)] We had gotten just enough confidence to take the "real" lift to the very top toward the end of the day when we ran into Patrick who was hanging out near the lift we would have had to take. We approached him for some advice on following a blue run from the top. The only sentence I remember from his advice was, "The markers can be hard to follow, so just don't take the wrong turn or you will end up on a black". He must have been able to smell my fear and suggested that we wait and have Jazzi take us up and show us the runs from the top the next morning. Perfect! I just hoped my shins, quads and back would be as excited about another day of skiing.
Feeling surprisingly pain-free, we met Jazzi the next morning and caught the chair lift to the top. She showed us the three best runs for our ability and explained that the last stretch of two of them ended on a red run. Then she skied each one with us. I felt so confident and was having a blast, until we had a choice to make. We could either continue on the blue run or take a sharp left turn onto a red run that went directly to the bottom. While we were looking at each other for the answer a 5 year old zipped past us on his way down the red run. Decision made. Tate took off first and reached the bottom perfectly. Jazzi took the lead, and I stayed right in her tracks. She cut across almost half the slope so I had time to prepare for the terrifying turns. My brain just did not want to believe that you should put all your weight forward on your skis as you are facing straight downhill for the best control. But I made it to the bottom unscathed and was thrilled! After two hours, our tour with Jazzi was over and we were on our own. We skied some more, then stopped for a late lunch at one of the alms. Since we knew we weren't going to ski the next day we decide to do one more big run. It was one too many.
The skiing was going really well until we got back to the red run that Tate had masterfully skied while we were with Jazzi. As the words "give me your phone so I can film you" came out of my mouth, I regretted them. He handed it over and started down. He made it 15 whole seconds before the first fall. I quit filming because I knew that I had jinxed him and started down. After my first turn, I stopped to make sure he was skiing again, only to see his second fall. This one wasn't as graceful and he lost one of his skis. Meanwhile, the two water bottles in his backpack had escaped and were racing each other to the bottom. A good samaritan brought him his ski and he gathered himself while I retrieved one of the rogue water bottles. Thankfully, the steepest part of the run was over so the water bottle and I waited for him. He skied up to me, we laughed and then began to ski the bottom 1/3 of that run. Tate was in front of me (*he will ALWAYS be in front of me after the bike wreck) and I'm not sure why I looked downhill for him, but I am glad I did. He had reached the end of the run where they start to funnel everyone toward the lift line. I watched as he plowed through the "langsam (slow)" sign, flipped ass over tin cup and then landed in the ditch. As I watched him get up, I heard the skiers on the chair lift overhead laughing hysterically. It was clear that only his pride had been wounded. Honestly - you couldn't help but laugh. We had all watched while sign parts, legs and skis went in directions they weren't suppose to!
As we made our way back to the hotel, I was laughing so hard trying to describe the scene to him that I was crying and could hardly breathe. He was a great sport and had a good laugh too. The day would have been flawless if we hadn't taken that last run. OR, was it more fun because we had? It seems that skiing could be a metaphor for life. There will be easy runs and difficult, mogul filled runs. The more experience you get, the better you are. It can be exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. The views can be stunning and the conditions perfect and other times it can be icy and not much fun. Other skiers are there to give you help. You will fall, just be willing to get back up. There are people who ski up to the edge and decide to give it a try. And there are those (like me) who are too afraid to lose control so they find another (safe) way down. Looking back on that trip, it is clear to me that if you don't fall, you probably haven't pushed the envelope. Kudos to Tate for being willing to find his edge and go just past it. Without it, we would have missed out on the funniest memory of the trip.