Copyrights reserved by the author. If you are in doubt, please click on 'Copyrights' and read the details.Why some of us just aren’t cut out for winter by J. G. Fabiano As much as we try to ignore the winter it still tries to make us miserable. My friends and family tell me my basic whining increases ten-fold this time of year but this year, apparently: I was particularly annoying. One of my friends suggested I get involved with one of the many winter sports our area has to offer and, since I am stuck in this frozen tundra for the next three months, my wife and I decided to try out the most popular attraction of New England. We drove up north to see if skiing was the way out of our winter doldrums. We arrived at the ski resort and went directly to a place where they rented skis. The temperature was somewhere between zero and 10 degrees. We didn’t care because a few weeks earlier my wife had bought us the best and warmest ski clothes money could buy. On our short walk to the ski shop I felt warm and comfortable and enjoyed the beautiful fresh, mountain air. I even observed to my wife how it was like being in a winter wonderland. I decided maybe my friend was right and winter did not have to be a chore but something to be enjoyed, maybe even anticipated. This mood did not last very long. The man at the ski shop was very helpful. I made it very clear to him that my wife and I had little knowledge of skiing and we were attempting to survive the winter by enjoying it. He had obviously heard this story before because he quickly outfitted us with ski equipment and set us up for a couple of lessons at something called ‘the bunny hill’ for those who aspired to be competent snow bunnies. There were quite a few new skiers around that day on the bunny hill and a very patient instructor took turns showing us how to turn and how to stop. My wife and I did very well on the flat ground and were both anxious to try out what we had learned on the actual hill. The instructor then led us to the bottom of the towrope that would take us to the top of the bunny hill. He showed us how to hold onto the rope and lean back and let the towrope do all the work. This seemed pretty easy and one after another we followed the other new skiers in catching onto the towrope. I noticed as I was being pulled up the hill that I was still nice and warm. In fact the fresh crisp air and bright sunshine actually deceived me into thinking I might still have some youthful energy left in these old bones of mine. Halfway up the hill I was feeling very relaxed and leaned back a little more to make myself even more comfortable. In doing so I managed to get myself into the most comfortable position possible, which was sitting on my butt on top of the rope. Meaning that I lost my balance and fell down. This would not have been too embarrassing except that when I fell I triggered a game of human dominoes in which everyone holding onto the rope found that same rope now being pushed down to the ground by my weight. In a second everybody on the towrope was sitting down and being dragged along by the rope with their faces drilled into the snow. The ski instructor waved frantically to the tow-rope operator to stop the machine and everybody got up and pulled the snow out of their faces then started retrieving their ski equipment which had been scattered across the side of the bunny hill. The only positive part of this was nobody saw who fell on the rope first. Like everybody else I looked around with a bewildered expression on my face as if wondering what had just happened. Finally we all made it to the top of the hill where the instructor told us to use what we had just learned to slide down the hill. I followed his instructions and was as surprised as anybody when I made it all the way to the bottom without falling down or losing control over where I was going. My wife did the same and we both felt confident that we could move on to the next hill, a novice hill that was a little bigger and a little steeper. I thanked the instructor, who gave me a funny look because I think he knew who had caused the great towrope catastrophe, and off to the chair lift we went. There was a short line at the chair lift and both of us had time to watch one couple after another let the chair catch them in the bottom and lift them up to take them to the top of the hill. The one thing the operator of the chairlift told everyone was to be careful not to cross their skis when they reached the top of the hill. I took his advice to heart and all the way up the hill all I could think about was to not cross my skis. The ride up the mountain on the chairlift was magnificent. The air had a clarity I could not remember ever seeing before and it seemed like we could see for miles. The evergreens heavy with snow, the white-coated mountains, and the startling blue of the sky were magnificent. But the one thing that impressed me the most was the air, which tasted like pure clean oxygen and filled me with a vitality that made me feel young again. I even felt a little angry with myself that I had not tried skiing much earlier in life and started thinking about buying our own ski equipment and which ski resorts offered the best deals on skiing. Just when we were about to crest the mountain the advice of the chair lift attendant came back to mind. I reminded my wife not to cross her skis when we reached the top and she nodded and readied herself for the slide away from the chairlift. As soon as we reached the top our skis hit the ground with one of my wife’s skis crossing mine. I never knew snow could be so hard. I had time to ponder the density of packed snow as I was dragged along by my face, scattering ski equipment to all four points of the compass. The chairlift operator stopped he chair lift, helped me back to my feet and extracted clumps of packed snow from my ears, ears and nose. He then helped me pick up my ski gear and I noticed my wife standing off to one side, perfectly upright on her skis, without a snowflake on her, looking around at the scenery as if she had no idea what had just happened. When I had put myself back together again, I rejoined my wife who decided to head off down the mountain first. I followed her down the hill and was quite impressed by the way she swerved from side to side and seemed to be in complete control of her descent. I was also impressed with myself doing exactly the same thing until I hit a bump on the hill. I think they call them moguls? Needless to say, this little bump sent me off in an entirely new and unplanned direction and I found myself traversing a side of the hill that seemed to be mostly sheet ice. I found myself sliding into the woods and, because I was picking up speed, decided to grab hold of a small tree to slow me down. That worked fine for a couple of seconds till I heard a loud snapping sound and I fell face first into the snow again. Behind me I heard a distant voice calling: ‘He knocked down a tree.’ The only way for me to get back up to the ski hill was to crawl on my hands and knees, carrying my skis and poles as best as I could. Finally, when I reached the marked trail I reattached my skis and attempted to pick myself up by leaning on one of the ski poles. I was under the impression that these poles were indestructible and could never break: it broke! At that point I was fully upright and my skis were pointed directly downhill. A downhill racer couldn’t have better form. All I could remember were the words of the instructor who said to keep the skis together. I had my skis tightly together and was building up speed fast, with no clue as to how I should turn or stop. Assuming that I would be dead in just a few moments I closed my eyes and felt the air rush against my face. Then I thought that if these were to be the last moments of my life why shouldn’t I at least see what was going to kill me? Halfway down the hill I noticed one small figure at the bottom of the hill. There was no one else in sight and I thought at least there would be somebody to call for help when I wiped out. As I screamed down the hill the little figure got bigger and bigger. Realizing that there was no way I could control where I would end up I just resigned myself and enjoyed the ride. A championship bowler could not have done better at hitting a lone pin. Too late the figure realized I was headed straight for him and tried to get out of the way. He didn’t stand a chance. I hit him dead on and the two of us went down in a giant cloud of snow that buried us both in white and the whole world went absolutely still. As the snow settled I realized that at least I had survived the impact. Checking myself out I discovered that there were no broken bones and there didn’t seem to be any blood in the snow. Then I remembered the guy I hit. Hoping desperately that I wouldn’t be charged with manslaughter I dug in the snow to find him, amazed by how completely I had buried us both. This time it was my turn to clear the snow from somebody else’s face and as that face came into view I was horrified to see that it was my instructor from the bunny hill. The same guy who suspected me of causing the pile-up on the towrope. For some reason he took it all with remarkably good humor and, after we made sure we were both still in one piece, he led me back to the ski shop where my wife was waiting. Once there he checked in our equipment, what was left of it, and told the shop clerk to credit me the money we had paid. Then he escorted us outside and pointed us in the direction of our car in the parking lot. His last words to me were words I will never forget. He told me I should seriously consider moving to a warmer climate! The End.
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