Somewhere along the way I got the crazy idea in my head that I should try to learn to ski. Nevermind that I HATE being cold, wet and windblown. Ignoring the fact that my current hobby is expensive enough (curse you yarn! Wait, I didn't mean it . . . ), and I need an even more expensive hobby like I need a hole in my head. And regardless of the fact that, despite the recent blizzard that dropped about 2 feet of snow on the Baltimore/Washington metro area, it actually doesn't snow all that much around here anymore, meaning I have to trek almost to another state to find any of that powdery white stuff so essential for skiing. My friends have been popping off on lovely ski trips since I met the lot of them 15 (gulp) years ago, and they made it sound fun. Plus I'm determined to fight my usual January and February blahs--and if I could find something amusing to do in cold weather, maybe that would help.
So, I spent this last weekend up in the mountains of western Maryland, where there is plenty of snow. It snowed every day I was there, in fact, about 6 or 8 fresh inches after all was said and done. For reasons unknown to me, I decided to spend the first day, the day where it was about 28 degrees with a calm wind, relaxing about my cozy log cabin. The second day was the day I picked to learn to ski. The day when the high was 12. TWELVE. And the wind chill was 1. ONE DEGREE. This was obviously the ideal day for skiing.
Who on earth came up with this so-called sport? Just getting the ski boots on and off was enough of a challenge, not to mention walking in them. While carrying skiis. And poles. And wearing enough garments to clothe a small island nation. I could barely move.
Then came the time for actual skiing. I took a lesson with a man named Jon who kept yelling at me for doing things I honestly wasn't doing ON PURPOSE. I mean, if you tell me eleventy squillion times not to cross my skiis, chances are that if my skiis do cross, I didn't intend for them to do so.
I was also scolded for my inability to jam my left foot down hard enough on the ski so that the little kickstand would pop up and the ski would adhere to my foot. Sorry, I can't magically gain 20 pounds or develop larger leg muscles . . .
But after an hour slipping around on a slight incline with Jon, I managed to master slowly drifting downhill, twisting slightly to the right and left, and coming to a stop more or less where I intended. I could no longer feel my face. My contact lenses were actually freezing in my eye. I was exhausted. Jon recommended not even going up on the lift because it was so windy on the top of the mountain--gusts about 50mph. But that was ok with me--I just wanted to go home.
Skiing. I tried. I didn't fail. But I didn't have much fun either.
What I did accomplish over the weekend:
Unless you've been living under a rock, you know this is Jared Flood's Koolhaas. Knit in some Patons angora bamboo I received in a swap, it's super soft, snuggly warm and my first FO for 2010.