My B-side

I Bet Abe was a Grand Skier.

I celebrated my love for Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, and (of course) George Dubya swimming in a foot of fresh powder. Levi (from Evansville), Paul, Mary, and I drove up to Sundance at 8 a.m. (Take notice: the only time I’ve woke before 11 a.m. this semester.) The boys (both stellar boarders) grabbed their gear while Mary and I rented skis. I watched as five-year-olds soared down the mountain effortlessly and thought: “The snow is toast.” Then I put on skis. Needless to say, it all went downhill from here (no pun intended.) Paul had to pull me via ski poles through the lift line. Mary however, was pole-less and out of control. The three of us watched as she plowed through 10 people, knocking fifty percent of them to their knees. Most thought she was a vengeful line jumper, but changed their minds after watching her many attempts at peace with her skis.

It was our turn; the four of us stood side by side on a thick red line. I crunched my eyes tightly and prayed that my butt would connect with the seat of the lift. I’m sure it would’ve worked out had my poles not tangled with my skis. After almost losing it I made the boys exercise the safety bar. We hopped off at midway. Paul and Levi tried to explain the basics of skiing. I picked up half of it and then launched forward down the hill. I was a bolt of chaos; my speed must have peaked at around forty.

The last thing I recall: Levi screaming, “SNOW PLOW, SNOW PLOW!?!?!!’’

I never got the snow-plow (a.k.a. stopping) technique down. The result: My body twisted itself in ways that I cannot describe. I laid lifeless in the snow. Paul flew down the slope to my rescue. With much awkward effort I was back on two skis. I took off again and ran straight into the bank. I peeled my mess of existence off the snow once more only to crash five additional times before ever making it to the bottom. Mary stayed at the top, helplessly edging down the hummock. Paul and I headed back for another go. I glided down the hill in a more orderly fashion.

After the third round Paul and I rode to the top of the mountain. He pointed at a ninety-degreeish slope, “Let’s do that one!”

Ha, funny. I convinced him that the blue square could easily be more adventurous than the black diamond. So, down Old Bear Claw we went. Just give me an E for effort.

At one point I braved a steep decline, no force could stop me. I felt hopeless and screamed for my life as the guardrail-less bend neared. The gap between me and the-point-of–no-return was drawing to a close; I violently chucked myself at the snow. My method kicked the-snow-plow’s trash as far as effectiveness goes. I removed the ski wedged in my back and laughed.

Paul came rushing over, “Are you ok!!?” But, I couldn’t stop laughing. He caught the infection and exclaimed with amusement, “That was the best one, yet!” I never topped off that fall, thank the Lord. I walked away (just barely) from Sundance with a beautiful goose egg, vibrant sunburn, and a broken body. It was an incredible day off.

posted by Melissa at 23:07