I decided to try this continuing
thread thing. Twoleggedkat Tales will be stories about me/people I have known. . . . . What got me started today was a group of my "friends" called to say that they were heading West for the last snow skiing trip of the season. These people are crazy! I am so-o-o-o ready for spring/summer and they are mourning the fact that they can't ski anymore this season. . . . . . .
What is it about skiing? Now, if this is your thing, fine, but why do avid skiers insist that we would all LOVE it? This same group of peope talked me into trying the sport a few years ago when they learned that I had reached my 30th birthday without ever gong skiing. It seems that my friend Rob had a friend who ran a small lodge in Vermont and I agreed to try the sport. I am not what you call proficient in any sport but I do love to watch most events. Lttle did I know what lay in store for me on the slopes of VT. . . . . . .
First of all the outfitting: do
you realize how much neon spandex it takes to surround a 6'4" 180lb female. (let us just suffice to
say that I have seen less lycra at an Aerosmith concert!) Not to mention the skis---if God had wanted all of me ballanced on 4' long, 4" wide strips of waxed wood I think he would have let me be the first to know. Finally, when I was stuffed into the suit (what is this fuzz shoved up around my neck that resembles fugitive pubic hair ? ? ?) the battle is just beginning.
I decide not to let on that I am already miserable. What the hey, I'll just ride the little chalet lift seat to the top of the mountain, get out, look around, change my mind and take the next car back down. AU CONTRAIRRE ! To begin with the "little chalet lift chair" is really a T-shaped hook with a 2 by 4 on the bottom that comes down and scoops you up from behind (can you say "king of the wedges") and races pell-mell to the top of the slope and proceeds to dump you forward, out and downhill. All in on swift motion. (so much for getting out, looking around and deciding if you want to ski or not) Baby, you are on your way down; fast and hard, head into the biting wind, mouth open, screaming at the top of your lungs as confused fellow skiers and woodland animals grab their young and flee your path. You're picking up speed and realizing that your skipoles were the first thing you dropped; as if having them would make the pretense of stopping seem any more a reality than the prayers you are forcing out of your lips between ear-piercing howls of lifetime redemption!!!
What is that up ahead? The Lodge parking lot! The attendant, a pimple faced local, is yelling something about "You can't come in here. This is a reserved lot!"
Yeah, right, kid, like you could stop a run away train. . . . The parked cars only serve as flippers on an old-fashioned pinball machine. They buffet me around but don't detour or stop me! Directly in my path now is the Restaurant/Lounge's double bay picture window. As I approach I can see diners and drinkers diving under tables or exiting anywhere possible. I am doomed!!!! 30 is too young to die on the hills of Vt. in sub-zero temperatures; screw the picturesque Currier and Ives countryside! But wait, what foresight: directly below the picture windows is a 7'deep planting of thick thorned English Holly. Yes, it stopped me just short of the dining room windows. THANK YOU, JESUS ! ! !
I was relieved (to be alive) I had long since relieved myself as evidenced by the 3' yellow icicle windswept from my thigh. My "friends" comments were "perhaps water skiing would be more my style". But that, as the Kat has been know to remark, is another story. . . . . .
thread thing. Twoleggedkat Tales will be stories about me/people I have known. . . . . What got me started today was a group of my "friends" called to say that they were heading West for the last snow skiing trip of the season. These people are crazy! I am so-o-o-o ready for spring/summer and they are mourning the fact that they can't ski anymore this season. . . . . . .
What is it about skiing? Now, if this is your thing, fine, but why do avid skiers insist that we would all LOVE it? This same group of peope talked me into trying the sport a few years ago when they learned that I had reached my 30th birthday without ever gong skiing. It seems that my friend Rob had a friend who ran a small lodge in Vermont and I agreed to try the sport. I am not what you call proficient in any sport but I do love to watch most events. Lttle did I know what lay in store for me on the slopes of VT. . . . . . .
First of all the outfitting: do
you realize how much neon spandex it takes to surround a 6'4" 180lb female. (let us just suffice to
say that I have seen less lycra at an Aerosmith concert!) Not to mention the skis---if God had wanted all of me ballanced on 4' long, 4" wide strips of waxed wood I think he would have let me be the first to know. Finally, when I was stuffed into the suit (what is this fuzz shoved up around my neck that resembles fugitive pubic hair ? ? ?) the battle is just beginning.
I decide not to let on that I am already miserable. What the hey, I'll just ride the little chalet lift seat to the top of the mountain, get out, look around, change my mind and take the next car back down. AU CONTRAIRRE ! To begin with the "little chalet lift chair" is really a T-shaped hook with a 2 by 4 on the bottom that comes down and scoops you up from behind (can you say "king of the wedges") and races pell-mell to the top of the slope and proceeds to dump you forward, out and downhill. All in on swift motion. (so much for getting out, looking around and deciding if you want to ski or not) Baby, you are on your way down; fast and hard, head into the biting wind, mouth open, screaming at the top of your lungs as confused fellow skiers and woodland animals grab their young and flee your path. You're picking up speed and realizing that your skipoles were the first thing you dropped; as if having them would make the pretense of stopping seem any more a reality than the prayers you are forcing out of your lips between ear-piercing howls of lifetime redemption!!!
What is that up ahead? The Lodge parking lot! The attendant, a pimple faced local, is yelling something about "You can't come in here. This is a reserved lot!"
Yeah, right, kid, like you could stop a run away train. . . . The parked cars only serve as flippers on an old-fashioned pinball machine. They buffet me around but don't detour or stop me! Directly in my path now is the Restaurant/Lounge's double bay picture window. As I approach I can see diners and drinkers diving under tables or exiting anywhere possible. I am doomed!!!! 30 is too young to die on the hills of Vt. in sub-zero temperatures; screw the picturesque Currier and Ives countryside! But wait, what foresight: directly below the picture windows is a 7'deep planting of thick thorned English Holly. Yes, it stopped me just short of the dining room windows. THANK YOU, JESUS ! ! !
I was relieved (to be alive) I had long since relieved myself as evidenced by the 3' yellow icicle windswept from my thigh. My "friends" comments were "perhaps water skiing would be more my style". But that, as the Kat has been know to remark, is another story. . . . . .