As I sat in my hotel room interviewing with the crew from PolarTREC, I expertly answered a very tough question to which I gave a telling response - "How do you solve problems, situations, or issues that you encounter in life?" Heh. Heh. Heh. I casually looked around my posh DC hotel room, rubbed my still-tender knees and hip, and thought briefly on the many times I had found myself (and usually Steve, too) in the middle of a "problem, issue, or situation." I chuckled - cackled, really - and replied, "There are no problems. Only adventures."
I was thinking in particular of a recent adventure on solid (albeit slippery) ground partaking in an activity that left the lower half of my body - oh, come on, who am I kidding? - left my entire body and ego aching, sore, and bruised. That activity is known by many Coloradoans as "skiing".
What person answers "yes" to the question, "Would you like to strap your feet to two waxed planks moving independently of each other, hold tightly onto two spiked poles that double easily as weapons, and hurtle yourself down a snow-packed hillside chocked full of both visible and invisible obstacles such as trees, rocks, or other people?"
After three glasses of wine and a full day on a perfectly functional snowboard, I did.
Now... I can explain everything. This boneheaded decision was all in response to the extraordinarily crappy snow I encountered in the previous six hours of my life. Winter Park is an outstanding resort, but like all mountains, it occasionally falls victim to dry spells, with no new accumulation to replace the tons of snow that get skiied off the mountain. This particular dry spell lasted for about five weeks. If there was 3 inches of snow on the runs, I couldn't find it. I spent most of my day on my snowboard dodging exposed rocks, branches, and tumbling sections of tree trunks lolling their way down the mountain in the same path I was trying to follow. The chairlift ride up was filled with cacophonious "sccccrrrriiiissssshhhh, scccrrissshhh" sound of skiiers and riders trying desparately to gain purchase on the icy hillslopes - a foreshadow of the trouble I would soon encounter on the ride down. In addition, it was cloudy that day which would have normally been tolerable had the flat light been accompanied by deliciously large snowflakes. None were to be found. At around 2 in the afternoon, I split off from the group who went to the terrain park because I couldn't see the landings any longer. As it turned out, it didn't matter that avoiding obstacles which required landing would keep me safe. As I popped over the lip of a hillcrest, a rogue skiier (the likes of which will be defined later) crossed my path. I turned hard, heard the telltale "scccrrriiisssshhhh" and scrubbed out on a larger than average patch of ice. Hard. I found myself face-down, sliding down the mountain on my knees and digging into the ice with my gloves as if that were going to slow down my tumbling body as it hurtled down the hillside. Ouch. At that point, I smartly called it quits. It wasn't worth the injury for a poopy day on the mountain. What can I say? I'm a snow snob. Thank you, Colorado.
At the bar waiting for our friends to finish up with their day, Steve and I discussed what we should do about these yucky conditions. We figured a trip to Copper would alleviate some of the issue, and planned on asking our friends, Brad and Theresa, if they wouldn't mind popping over there for the day to see if conditions were better. As it turned out, Brad and Theresa only had passes for Winter Park. After my third glass of wine, Brad expertly suggested that if the conditions were awful, maybe Steve and I would have a better day if instead we were on skis. "Surrrrreeeee!" I say. "I've always wanted to try skiing." Problem. Wait. Strike that. Adventure.
This is exactly how I found myself strapped to two waxed planks moving independently of one another, grasping tightly to poles which easily double as weapons, and a hurtling myself down a hillslope whilst trying to avoid visible and invisible objects. Mainly, I was trying to stay out of my own way, as in this case, I was my own worst obstacle.
I discovred that I knew volumes less about skiing than I thought I did.
The first thing I learned about skiing from watching other skiiers is that if you want to go fast, you make your skis look like "french fry." If you want to go slow, you make your skis look like "pizza." I spent many days of yore entertaining myself on chairlifts by proclaiming the food status of other skiers below me who were grappling with this concept. Therefore, I deserved whatever pain I got that day. What I learned while actually wearing the skis is that even if you make a dinosaur sized piece of pizza, you still can't stop the cursed things. The only definitive way to stop on skis is to tip over. Which hurts.
I also learned from watching others that when wearing ski boots on the ground, one must have a distinctive stick-up-the-arse gait that screams out "I am a rich douchebag who wears a jumpsuit, has poor taste in said jumpsuit, and laughs loudly with all of my rich, frat boy friends." What I learned is that it is damn near impossible to walk in ski boots and the exaggerated heel-toe oddity is the only way to grapple with the fact that your ankles and calves are in a giant, plastic vice grip. Which hurts.
I learned finally from my snowboarding life that the distinctive way to find new skiiers on the mountain (which certianly need to be avoided at all costs) is to look for the tell-tale knock-kneed, 45 degree bent-at-the-waist body position with skis permanently in pizza postion skittering slowly ACROSS rather than DOWN the mountain. After actually wearing the skis, what I really learned is that this position is quite valuable if you are trying desparately not fall down or crash into a tree while troglodyte snoboarders scream past you at 45 miles per hour. Which hurts.
Did I mention skiing hurts?
Did I mention that when you fall down on a snowboard, if you can actually right yourself again, you stand up in the position that leaves you able to remain stationary? This is not a luxury skiiers afford themselves. If you feel so inclined to stand up, you better feel so inclined to continue skiing. And if you aren't ready, you will fall down immediately. Which hurts.
I consider skiing to be quite aggressive. You know how the dog whisperer always approaches aggressive dogs from the side? And when he is trying to be dominant, he faces the dog directly? Me facing directly down the mountain rather than sideways is much like trying to stare down a territorial pit bull. Why on earth would you ever do that? That can only lead to one logical conclusion. Which hurts.
I spent most of my day longing for my perfectlly functional snowboard that I can operate with reasonable confidence. Every time I tipped over, I considered returning back to my car to swap out equipment. I swore if I listened hard enough, I could hear my snowboard all the way from inside the car, weeping softly because it was left out of the day's fun. Then I realized that getting to said snowboard would require me skiing to it. Which, clearly, I was failing at. Miserably. I mean, seriously. Who has ever fallen on skis face down with legs in the "frog" position with the heels of the skis crossed? I can tell you right now, at least one person in this conversation has done it three times. I spent ten minutes taking directions from Brad trying to untangle myself.
I also expected much more out of my ski poles. When throwing temper tantrums from falling down, I expected that the ski poles would make excellent candidates as objects to beat into the mountain - an extension of banging your fists into the carpet, if you will. What I learned was that when one bashes ski poles into the mountainside in manner of expressing frustration, they bounce. And hit you in the face.
I didn't hate skiing. In fact, there were some definite benefits to being a skier. Take, for example, chairlifts. Chairlifts are much easier to maneuver on skis. I did not spend the day battling the chairlift or planning an exit strategy as I approached the dismount. This season on a snowboard, the current score is Staci - 12, Chairlift - 2. On skis, however, it is Staci- 5, Chairlift - 0. Take that, sucka.
I also learned that catwalks are a non-issue on skis. I was very pleased to announce that I did not spend ANY portion of my day humping along a short uphill section with my board trailing awkwardly in the distance while skiers sped deftly past me.
I also liked that if I didn't like what I was skiing over, I could just pick up my foot. In snowboarding, we call that a "jump." In skiing, I just moved my foot around whatever I didn't want to steer over. Lovely. One time, I was so stealthy in this endeavor that I gradually started to lose my balance. In order to regain said balance, I just lifted my leg higher and higher and swam backward through the air with my ski poles. On-slope judges gave me a 5.8.
I think if given the opportunity, I may ski again. I may make slightly less a spectacle of myself, so don't invite me if you want to see me flail all over the place. You already missed all the fun. I have no idea why I succumbed to this ridiculous peer pressure that made my hind parts ache for three weeks, but I guess it was worth it. Skiing was a day of problems, but I think at the end of the day, I could safely call it an adventure. One I may be persuaded to re-live.
