My First Ski Trip

The first time I ever went skiing, I was in high school. My sister, Stephanie, volunteered to take me, John, and Kerri and teach us to ski. Never one to do anything half-heartedly, she took us to Vail. What a wonderful sister she is!

We arrived at the resort and almost lost John right off the bat. They were filming the old television series "Charlie's Angels" right in the middle of Vail! He wanted to stay and see the "angels" in person. For his own good, we drug him along with us.

Our first ski day, Stephanie enrolled all of us in ski school. That allowed us time to learn some of the basics. Important things like how to put our skis on and how to fall down so we didn't go careening down the mountain, picking up speed like a giant snowball and ending up taking out the lodge. I thought we were doing well, but when Steph came to pick us up at the end of the day, the following conversation ensued:

Ski instructor: "Are they coming back tomorrow?"

Stephanie: "No, I'm going to take them with me tomorrow."

Ski instructor: "I really think they should come back tomorrow."

Stephanie: "I've been skiing for years and I've taught several people to ski. It will be okay."

Ski instructor: "I really think they should come back tomorrow."

Day Two dawned bright and beautiful. We, the pupils, had full confidence in our "ski master's" abilities to have us swooshing gracefully down the slopes in a couple of hours. We spent the morning, however, learning various ways to fall. By the afternoon, Steph decided we were ready for a little more of a challenge. Kerri could go down any slope because she never came out of her snow plow, even when she fell. All we had to do was go flip her back up. Of course, she never went over 2.5 miles per hour, but slow and steady wins the race, right? 

Stephanie assigned John to escort Kerri down a green "road" that would intersect the slope she wanted to take me down. We saw them off and then made our way to the lift. At the top of the slope, Steph wanted to double check just to make sure she knew which way to go. To her horror, she realized the only way to get to our meeting point  with John and Kerri was down a black mogul run. For non-skiers, a black slope is a really hard one and moguls are giant snow bumps. 

Standing at the top of the trail, I told my "ski master" there was no way!!!! I couldn't see over these moguls and the slope was almost vertical! She assured me that we would take it slowly and just traverse. Naively, I followed her. There is no way to describe the impossibility of the task we had set for ourselves. Stephanie is a good skier; without me, she could have managed. I, on the other hand, had no hope of survival.

I don't even know how many times I crashed. Hopelessly less than half way down, I once again lost control. I picked up speed and took another spectacular crash landing flat of my back. As I lay there contemplating the meaning of life and whether mine had come to an inglorious and abrupt end, I realized I had crashed right under the lift. As if an audience of strangers going over on the lift was not bad enough to witness my humiliated state, I suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting: "Hey, I know you!!"

It was the ski instructor!! 

Can you imagine what he was thinking of my "ski master" at that moment??