Shaken but not stirred

Jason and I went skiing in the morning to ascertain whether or not it would be prudent for me to get a lesson or if I was truly not as bad as I thought, and later turned out to be. I haven’t skied, I think, since my mother and I went to Whistler for a day in high school. Jason skied 5 years ago. Granted, it was in the Poconos, but he skied nonetheless. Due to an unusally mild winter here the slopes are icy and new snow is being made all the time. This snow is wet, compact, and it sticks to your glasses as you ski by.

There are three levels of sane skiing here and two levels of insane skiing. Blue is beginner, red is intermediate and black is black-diamond. These are ski runs. There are also ski routes, red-diamond and red-diamond with a black outline marked by a dotted rather than solid line. These trails are neither patrolled nor avalanche proof. There are also Alpine routes marked by a dashed dotted line on the map. They require an authorized guide. I believe there are also three helicopter drop places. Beginner doesn't necessarily mean easy. Nevertheless, lines of little kids in jumpers and vests slalom down the slope making long helmeted snakes, jumping over moguls and crashing into eachother. No fear.

The first time down the hill was fine. One section (blue run 4) was scary, because it was narrow, steep, and icy, but there were only a few people on it. The second time, people were perched at the top, afraid to go down. It was peppered with beginners who were sliding down sideways taking all the top man-made snow with them and leaving even more ice for those hesitating at the top. I am afraid of ice, but I am more afraid of people who stop for no reason right in front of me. I am no Pekabo and I can neither turn nor stop on a dime. But Jason, who (have I mentioned) is awesome, was waiting for me at the bottom of the narrow death trap so I tried actually skiing on my skis, instead of my butt, down the hill. That was my first mistake.

About half way down I hesitated (second mistake), slipped and fell- tips uphill ass downhill- and proceeded to slide. I threw out my hands like grappling hooks in an attempt to slow or even stop. Icy snow came away like nothing and I continued to slide over the edge, head first, into a snowy 15 foot ravine. Parts of the rocky side peeked out and in a moment of clarity I thrust my arm out in front of me figuring a broken arm would be far better than a broken head. Luckily, I hit neither arm nor head and came to a stop at the bottom. I had left only my pride and one pole on the hill above. A woman who had seen me fall brought my pole to Jason as she skied past. Shaken, but not stirred, I walked back to the run and we skied down the mountain. At the bottom we signed up for an afternoon lesson.