A friend asked me last week if I wanted to go with her and a few other of our friends on a skiing trip to Breckenridge, Colorado.
Why couldn’t they be planning a trip to Key West, where it’s warm and I could sit on the beach while an attractive bartender brings me adult beverages with little umbrellas in them?
Let’s be honest. If God had wanted humans to snow ski, He never would have created a bar with a fireplace in it.
I’m not wild about going snow skiing because – and I admit I’m not an expert on this – I feel like to go snow skiing, I must go somewhere that has, you know, snow. I don’t like snow. It’s cold, wet, monochromatic and – did I mention? – cold. I don’t even like South Georgia snowstorms, where two inches of snow falls overnight and as soon as the sun comes out, it melts and is gone by sundown.
Another reason I don’t want to go snow skiing is that I suspect it would be an expensive hobby. I don’t really have a lot of true cold weather garb. I’m very prepared to North Georgia winters. I have lots of sweaters and sweatshirts, a handful of jackets and an overcoat. None of that seems like it would cut it on top of a snow-covered mountain.
But more importantly than any of that is why in the world would I ever want to go to the top of a snow-covered mountain?
Friends have told me in that past that I would enjoy snow skiing and that it’s easy to learn. I don’t doubt that. I believe snow skiing is easy. Go to the top of the mountain, point your skis downhill and push off. Voila! You’re skiing.
If I were ever to consider going skiing, though, I’m sure I’d need to spend much time as possible with an instructor – probably someone named Sven or Olaf – because I have a lot of questions, such as, “How do I stop?”
With water skiing — which Southerners are far more accustomed to — stopping is easy. You simply let go of the rope that is being used to pull you and you’ll sink gently into the water.
It doesn’t seem to be as easy with snow skiing. I’m certain there are some technical maneuvers that Sven or Olaf can teach me, but as a novice, it appears that there are only two real ways to stop once you’ve started barreling down the mountain.
For one, you could successfully navigate the course and reach the bottom of the mountain. This, of course, is the preferred method because the bottom is where the lodge is. When you reach the bottom, you can take off your skis, go inside and sip bourbon by the fire.
But I ain’t exactly Lindsey Vonn here. I highly doubt I’d successfully make it to the bottom and the other method involves straying off the course and slamming into a tree. You’ll stop, but you’ll probably also break a leg, not to mention damaging several vital organs.
I politely passed on the invitation to go snow skiing. I’m afraid it would take far too much practice — and the threat of too many trees — for me to get good at skiing. Besides, I’m still holding out for a warm weather, beach trip invitation.
In the meantime, I will continue practicing the sipping-bourbon-by-the-fire part.
