They say that life is funny, but I’m here to tell you that it is only funny looking back.
At least that is true when I think about my first day of skiing.
What’s a beginnings skier doing on a 11,000-foot Colorado mountaintop? I wish you had asked me that before I got to there, but looking back to when I was a brave and foolish 33-year-old, I’m not sure I could have answered that question.
It was a beautiful but cold December morning. I put on my borrowed ski suit and my rented ski boots. Grabbing my rented skis, I was ready to conquer the mountain. Ski boots don’t bend at the ankle so I stomped like a zombie all the way to the pull rope at the bottom of the “Bunny Slope.” You can guess with a name like “Bunny Slope” this was not the most challenging part of the mountain.
After only one fall, I successfully conquered the gentle part of the mountain. As I stood there in my new talent of skiing some”friends” (if you won’t call them that) ask me if I wanted to take the lift to the top of the mountain.”Sure,” I answered, why not?” After all, I had mastered the Bunny Slope.
A few minutes later we all stood atop of a frozen mountain. I was also frozen with fear and anxiety. Since I had taken no ski lessons, I was ignorant about skiing. I knew nothing about how to ski down a slope. Well, someone did mentioned that if you get out of control you should sit down immediately. Soon I had to use that technique. It hurt! I did not really know how to sit down on a mountain.
One by one, each of us headed down the slope. It turns out whether you are an expert or a beginner, gravity is an equal opportunity employer. I could go. I could go really fast. What I couldn’t do was go slow. We soon reached the place where we all had to go down a steep slope and then turn left to a flat place. Everyone did it but me. Now in my turn, I went down. I accelerated faster and faster. Finally at the bottom of the steep run, I tried to turn left but nothing happened. I saw my friends waiting as I skied straight past. I soon found myself on a run called “El Diablo.” If you don’t know Spanish, El Diablo does not mean “Bunny Slope.” It means ” The Devil.” Now on El Diablo, my fast skiing shot into overdrive. Out of control, I had to do something. Hearkening back him a 20 seconds of training, I did the only thing I knew to do. I set down. More correctly I will say that I slid and rolled and tumbled. It look less like skiing and more like a suicide attempt.
Help arrived and helped me up. I finally made it to the bottom of the mountain. At the bottom, my friends ask me just one question,”Do you want to go back to the top of the mountain.”
Without hesitation, I answered yes. I could hardly believe what I was hearing when I said it. 20 minutes later we stood at the top of that same mountain, I was ready to go on another suicide attempt.
One by one we slid off the top and started down the slopes. Soon I found myself in the place where I thought before I was going to die. Everyone skied ahead and waited for me at the same flat place just left of the steep slope. This time I had to turn left. This time I knew about El Diablo. and that it was waiting for me.
Down I went. Faster and faster I went. By the time I was supposed to turn left, it felt like I was doing two hundred miles per hour. Before I knew it I was back home El Diablo.
Being a quick decision maker, I decided I could not just set down because this time the suicide attempt might be successful. Flying down the mountain, the trees to my left went by so fast that they looked like a picket fence. Just ahead with a large, flat, and safe area. Unfortunately between me and that safe place was a ditch. Joy filled my heart when I make it through the ditch out to the flat plain.
Wait! All of a sudden there was a 20 something year old young woman lazily skiing ahead of me. She was swaying from side to side casually doing a little dipsy-doodle.
All I could think was “Lady, please don’t dipsy when I doodle.” Unfortunately she did dipsy the same time I did.
All of a sudden, the 130 pound young woman was body slammed by a 230 pound linebacker. She crumbled to the ground. I reached down and scooped her into my arms and now we were both going going 200 mph (At least it felt that fast). My chest was to her back and her skies were inside of mine. This terrified woman was also now flying down the mountain with my a strange man’s arms around her. She couldn’t see me and probably thought she had been kidnapped.
In time we would slow down. At least I felt the would. That plan would have worked except for the giant mud bank 100 yards straight ahead of us. Since we needed to turn (a thing I was not yet able to do), I knew hat our skis need to be separated to avoid becoming a giant two-person mud pie. My quick decision-making came to my rescue one more time. I could give her a gentle shove to untangle our skis and she would speed ahead of me and we can both turn. At least that was how I saw in my head. That is not how witnesses said it happened. What they saw was me push her down into a ball of flying arms, legs and skis. Instantly I hit the out of control woman and we both tumbled for 30 yards.
While she still lay helplessly on the snow, her husband arrived. He picked her up and with a word, they simply skied away.
If they ask why I did it, I knew what I would have told them. I would have said, ”The devil made me do it.” Well, the Spanish devil made me do it – “El Diablo!”
The truth is that life is often funny only we look back.