I never took up skiing till I was thirteen. Call me crazy but in those thirteen years never once did I have the desire to slide two anorexic sleds to my feet and haul myself down a hill towards the awaiting snow covered pine trees.
When I was thirteen though skiing was all I could think about, for there was an upcoming school trip to the slopes, and my lack of skiing ability would not stop me.
How hard could it be right? You go down a hill from side to side, I mean it wasn’t exactly rocket science… or talking to a girl, I figured.
Just to be on the safe side though I decided I needed a lesson, and after some convincing on how important my new found career in skiing would be, my parents saw it that way too.
The lesson was a mere hour long and to my frustration we never got off the bunny hill, still I knew I was ready for bigger and faster things, for in my mind, the ski trip with my school, a mere stepping stone to the Olympics!
And so my first ski trip began with promise. I went up with a pack of friends, but within seconds of arriving at the top they had already started back down.
I on the other hand didn’t see the rush, I stood there at the top of that hill for some time, just taking in the scenery below, trying to figure out which parts of it would hurt less to crash into then the others.
Finally I started down and the scenery grew larger and larger.
It was coming closer at an alarmingly fast rate, as was one skier who had the misfortune of being in front of me.
Our skis were about to touch and as he turned to look at me, an expression reserved for serial killers and door to door Jehovah’s witnesses etched into his face. I knew I had to do something quick.
I swerved.
Next thing I knew I was in a ditch, my skis and my legs in one big knot.
Within seconds I noticed two people staring down at me from where I had fallen.
“Are you okay?”
“I can’t get up,” I said as I tried to untangle my skis.
The two began panicking and calling for help.
“No, no, it’s just my skis are all crossed and…”
They weren’t listening.
Soon I had gathered my own little audience, watching me, discussing me, taking bets on my injuries.
I was about to explain that it was just my skis… about to, till I noticed a small group of girls I went to school with had gathered. I decided paralyses might be less embarrassing then the inability to untangle myself.
It was a good theory, till the ski patrol showed up with snowmobiles and stretcher in toe.
As they went to action saving my life, I wondered when the best time would be to break the news of the mix up to them.
They were well trained, those heroes of the hills, for I was untangled in seconds and ready to be lectured.
I learnt a valuable lesson that day so many years ago… when you are out of control, let the other guy get out of YOUR way.
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