Saturday, January 24, 2015

Reluctant Skier

I'm sitting in the parking lot of a ski hill as I write this. SuperstormDebbie has temporarily been downgraded to LittleDebbie. She's napping to make up for the sleep she didn't get in our bed last night. Too bad we can't do the same...

BestestHusband is on the hill with HeyMama and MeToo. They were going to do lessons and work their way up to the chair lift. I have a limited view from the front seat here, but I haven't seen them yet. 

We went skiing last weekend. MeToo learned to side-step her way up inclines and pick herself up when she fell.  Not bad for a few hours of work. HeyMama gained a lot more control and confidence, and successfully raced a kid down the hill. On the chair lift up, he'd been bragging about how long he'd been skiing and how good he was. We were excited to see that the bragging stoked a competitive fire in HeyMama. She totally smoked him. 

The fact that I got on skis last week is noteworthy. I do not like skiing. I can ski. I grew up taking long road trips to NM to learn, and I became quite competent. But there's a reason I stopped skiing when I left home. I don't really enjoy it. It's cold. I don't like being cold. It's a lot of work. It requires a lot of equipment. It's expensive. And did I mention that it's cold?

Over the years, different boyfriends said, "But if you go skiing with me, you'll have fun." They were wrong. 

So I warned BestestHusband not to even try. Wisely he listened. 

I was not planning to ski again. 

But then I had kids. And they were bundled up in bright pink snowsuits, excited to ski with their daddy. And they needed a lot of help. Both of them. At the same time. So, nauseous and outfitted in a ski bib purchased to accommodate a new growing belly, I got on skis again. I was so miserable, for so many reasons. But the girls were not. And I realized that I would have to be a skier again. Sigh. Two bright eyed little girls accomplished what grown men could not. They made me try to be someone I'm not. 

So two years later I again clicked into skis and slowly wedged my way down a bunny slope. And when LittleDebbie wakes up, I'll pull another future skier on a sled to watch her sisters make careful turns down the hill. I'm going to be a skier. A reluctant one. But I'll be a skier again. 

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