This is me...tearin' up the slopes! It seems pretty obvious that my "My Body Hates Me" posts are going to have more sequels than the Saw series of movies (and no less bloody). But I might as well share these experiences, whether they be cautionary tales to my equally graceless bretheren or just fodder for jokes at my expense. Either way...I give you my latest bodily disaster.
This Martin Luther King Jr. Day weekend I went on a ski trip with some of my pals. The road trip to our slopes started off splendidly, including a stop at the most spectacular rest stop I've ever been to: The GoAsis. If you've never been...you better get your ass up to NE Ohio, Interstate 71, Ashland exit. And make sure you drink a huge coffee on the way so that you have to go to the bathroom when you get there. You won't be disappointed.
Our first order of business after crossing the PA line was to procure, as quickly as possible, a case of Yuengling, another beer that is so insignificant I forget its name, and a deck of Uno cards. After arriving at our kind and generous hosts’ home, the night went as most nights involving cards and alcohol do. I was also introduced to a game called Blockus. At first glance the box resembled one of those “educational games” that geometry teachers swear is “fun” yet will teach me so much about congruent angles. I was hesitant, but my friend’s brother was so unabashedly enthusiastic about it that I couldn’t help but give it a whirl. The game ended up being less educational and more vicious. I suppose the most I learned was how to insult my opponents using the word “Blockus.” (Example: “I’m going to Blockus your ass” or “Go Blockus yourself shithead”).
The next morning I awoke to find that even more snow had fallen in Erie and that the house was abuzz with excitement, mostly in the form of ski goggle and thermal underwear comparisons. I felt absolutely spectacular considering the amount of adult beverage I had consumed the night before…however I knew it would be short lived (more on that soon). After packing up and setting off we arrived at our ski destination of choice in New York. First of all, I imagined saying in my best Martha Stewart voice “Oh yes, my weekend was exquisite. I spent it on the slopes at this darling resort in New York. I made my entire group of friends these gorgeous scarves out Himalayan yak wool yarn.” After suiting up in our gear, which can be quite a feat in and of itself, we warmed up on the bunny hill. All went fabulously well. I exited the ski lift with great skill and made my way down the hill, stopping expertly. I was beginning to think that maybe I was too hard on myself in the coordination department. I WAS good at skiing and it was going to be a sweet trip. And I let myself believe this for another 3 hours or so. I rode up to higher and higher hills and flew down them without much trouble.
The first omen of doom came as I was trying to vacate the ski lift chair. I had been conversing with my seat mate when my ski caught on a bank of snow. I attempted to get up from my seat but I could feel myself making the turn to go back down on the lift. All I could think of was “Hell no…I am not going to suffer the humiliation of riding back down on this thing.” So I did what any sane person would… a Spiderman-like belly dive off the chair. I went face first into a pile of snow and, because I thought the lift was still going around, put my hands over my head in case one of the chairs slammed into the back of my skull. I was laughing so hard that my seat mate thought I was bawling and she crouched down thinking maybe I had broken my face or worse, my new ski goggles. Unbeknownst to me the operator had stopped the lift and some of my friends were still sitting on it, wondering what the hold-up was (they should have known it was me). “You have to stand up when you get to the top,” Mr. Lift Operator said. My first inclination was to give him the finger and shout “No shit Sherlock! Do you think I wanted to dive face-first into a pile of cold-ass snow?” But I just smiled timidly and said something to the effect of “Silly me!”
OMG...I need a break...
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