Going Downhill Fast

We hit the slopes a couple of weekends ago.

I've always wanted to say that.  It sounds so healthy and athletic, like we're a family on the move, who grabs life by the horns and wrestles it to the ground and spits in its face.  That's right, we hit the slopes.  What'd you do, stay home and watch TV all weekend?  Ha!  We are so with it.

In all honesty, it was Christy's idea.  I was looking forward to staying home and watching TV.  But she got us going, and we can now proudly say that we hit the slopes!

But, after doing it, I have found that saying you hit the slopes is more fun than actually hitting the slopes.  Slopes are kind of hard, rough and cold.  Trust me on that one.  I became fairly well acquainted with them.  We're like old friends now.  The kind of friends that are okay with going long periods of time between visits.

The kids had a day off from school, so we drove up to Boone the night before and lodged at the five-star Fairfield Inn & Suites.  (Did you ever notice how Fairfield Inn & Suites never actually has any suites?)  We then arose early and drove up to Sugar Mountain.  We had borrowed a whole bunch of "ski gear" from my sister-in-law, Laura.  I think she can open her own ski shop someday.  Mostly it was stuff to keep us warm and dry, which proved useful.

So, we checked in and got our boots, but I don't think they were the kind that Nancy Sinatra sang about.  From there, I felt like Steve Martin in The Jerk.  I'm ready to go skiing, and I don't need anything else, except these skis.  And that's it!  I don't need anything else . . . I need these poles.  But that's it!  The skis and the poles!  I don't need anything else!  And this lift ticket, I need that.  But that's it!  That's all I need!  Oh, I need this ski school ticket.  But that's all!  The skis, the poles, the lift ticket, and the school ticket, and nothing else!  I don't need one other thing!  I need Evan's and Maya's skis, since they can't carry them.  But that's it!  Oh, and this lamp . . .

Justin, having spent a college semester in Boone already, grabbed a snowboard and took off.  He had no trouble heading right for the big hills, and enjoyed several great runs.  The rest of us went to the little hill and ski school.  There we learned about the pizza and the french fries.  For those not familiar with these technical skiing terms, I'll sum it up for you.  The more pizza and french fries you've eaten, the less likely you are to come to a graceful stop.  But we learned how to navigate while on skis - turning left and right and such, albeit in a very confined area where we had little chance of injuring the other paying customers.  Surprisingly, none of us fell down even once in ski school, which turned out to be a very bad thing, since we then never learned how to get back up.

We all graduated from ski school.  We had always hoped that someday a Martschenko would graduate from Boone, and so that dream is now fulfilled!  We were confident and ready to venture off on our own.  And from that point on, I believe we all had somewhat different experiences.

Evan took to it immediately.  He loved it, and was ready to hit the bigger hills pretty quickly.  I believe by the end of the day, he made more runs than anyone.  Abbie also did fairly well, with her sunglasses and long hair flowing behind her, she looked like a natural.  I expected her ability to go down hills would be impaired by her stair climbing deficiency syndrome (SCDS), but she did okay.  Alec, always the tentative one, took it a bit slower.  Like his father, the pizza and fries were a handicap.  But he eventually managed to make a few decent runs.  And Christy and Maya showed the greatest improvement of all, having feared the big hill in the morning, they overcame by the afternoon, and made us all proud.

What I took away from the day was that skiing is less about trying to go downhill, and more about trying to not go downhill.  The comfort and peace of the ski lift is quickly and violently replaced with five minutes of pure horror. 

But there were times, brief moments I must say, when it actually felt good to be flying downhill.  One time I passed Abbie at breakneck speed and yelled, "See ya!"  All she could muster was an incredulous "No way!"  I was really flying, not because I wanted to, you see, I just didn't know how to slow down.  The benefit, I thought, was that I was going to beat Abbie to the bottom of the hill and become the true skiing champion of the family.  Of course, there's only one way this story ends.  Another fifty yards and I completely wiped out in a mangled mass of arms legs and ski gear.  No worries, I thought, my loving daughter would be by any second to help me up.  In fact, there she comes now to my rescue.  My sweet kind-hearted daughter.

Swoosh, swoosh.  "Ha, ha.  I win."  Swoosh. Gone.  Just like that.  Heartless. 

If there's one thing I hate more than a face full of snow, it's losing to Abbie.

Despite the agony of this defeat, in general, we can call the day a success.  Seven of us.  No broken bones.  And despite the fact that my experience in going downhill fast showed me how fast I'm going downhill, I'll always be able to say it.  Yeah, we hit the slopes.

Now, what's on TV this weekend?