Until Friday morning, it had been over two and a half decades since I’d been on downhill skis, and my time then was very very brief. Like less than an hour, say.
So, filled with trepidation, but bolstered by the presence of a friend and coworker who had never been on downhill skis (although she is an awesome water skier), I climbed into my friends truck and headed for Summit Lake Ski Area.
It was March 9, so there was snow but it was getting a little crusty. Fortunately the giant groomer was there, making its enormous way up and down the hill fluffing up the snow for the few of us out there.
I had already tried to chicken out a couple of times, calling Summit to ask what the snow was like. As if I’d know the difference, anyway. I’d also called and left a message with our instructor Nicole Nicholson trying to delay the lesson until the snow was better, maybe next winter.
But, it was too late. There Teresa and I were, in the ski rental shop, rendering all the necessary info to get suited up. Luckily, I think, there was a scale there so I could give an accurate figure for my weight, a number I choose to be blissfully ignorant of most of the time.
Getting into the boot was a pain in the feet, but once they were on, they were cozy and made you walk like a cowboy. How could you not like that. Even before we were out on the snow, Teresa and I were already getting comfortable looking like a couple of goofballs.
Then, the skis were on and we were off, kind of. Mostly we just tried to figure out how to slide around, and then how to slide uphill. At this point we hadn’t even made it to the bunny hill, we were maybe at the toe of the foot of the bunny hill, and we started to learn how to snow plough.
After a while, Nicole must have been confident we weren’t going to fall over just trying to stand up, and we made our way over to the rope tow. I have more respect for six-year-olds on skis now than ever before. Grabbing the bar that stuck out like a frozen flag, I let it tow me up a third of the way and let go as gracefully as I could. Turning sideways to rest (the hardest part of the day), the way down to the parking lot suddenly seemed like a real descent. Cripes. Was there any way this wasn’t going to end in tears, sprains, and shame?
Nicole herded Teresa & I into position and taught us how to use our hands and heads as guides for shifting our body weight from one leg to another. It was right then I wished I’d started skiing about thirty-two years ago.
Nervous, but still wanting to try, we made our slow turns down, and again, and again. Not bad. My feet and hands were sweating, and I was glad I’d taken off my thicker jacket.
Now on to the T-bar, said Nicole. Teresa and I looked at each other.
“Seriously?”
Where the T-bar let off, a vertical descent shot down the mountain. No, Nicole, reassured us, we were going along the top to the far side with its gentler slopes. That’s more like it, I thought.
At the top Nicole put us through the paces again, getting us to ski “bubbles” and try wider turns that relied more on gravity than digging the ski edge in.
One more run down the bunny hill and our ski lesson was done, and our legs.
An hour and a half on skis had us sweating, and laughing, and concentrating on just staying upright.
All in all, it was a ball, and Teresa (no falls) and I (three falls) will definitely be back again, thanks to the expert lesson given by Nicole and the gear help from Mel in the ski room. Summit Lake is the perfect place to learn how to ski. Next year I’ll start earlier.
The ski hill is still open, and will be holding its winter carnival Saturday, March 17 from 10 a.m. until 5 p.m.
Everyone is encouraged to dress up for the event, skier, snowboarder, or neither, which will feature a downhill dummy race, BBQ, a cake walk, a jello eating contest and much more.
