My experience in winter sports is limited yet memorable.
When I was a teenager, I went on ski trip with our church’s youth ministry. We drove to a resort in West Virginia. It was beautiful. I had never skied before in my life so I was excited.
The resort offered free ski lessons but I got bored and decided to go off and ski by myself. After all, they made it look so easy on TV.
You have to understand, when I was younger, I was an adrenaline junkie and I thought I was invincible.
So anyway, I went off on my own. I, at least, had the good scene to pick a beginner slope. Well after I took off down the hill, it wasn’t long before I started to pick up sped. I went fast. Then really fast. Then even faster. And pretty soon I was flying down a hill, screaming. I should point out that there were a lot of other people on the slopes. People that saw me fly past them screaming at the top of my lungs.
I didn’t know how to stop since I had bailed on the lessons. In an awkward move, I threw my weight to the side in an attempt to stop. I fell to the ground and slid a few feet before I came to a stop. When I got to my feet, I realized I was missing a ski. I grabbed my poles and with my one ski, I climbed back up the hill. I found my missing ski off to the side in the trees. And that was the end of skiing for me forever.
Oh, but wait, there’s more.
On this same trip I decided to go tubing. The set up was pretty cool. They actually had a lift for the tubes that brought us up to the top of a very steep hill. It was a blast. My friends and I did it for hours. On this one particular trek, I decided I want to go downhill even faster. So I decided that while going down the hill, I would pin my arms to the side, keep my legs straight and together. I basically turned my body into a missile. It worked perfectly.
Except for when it was time to stop. You see the problem was, we were in the middle of a valley and I was too fast that I didn’t stop at the bottom of the hill. I ended up flying through the landing area and up the hill opposite the tubing hill. It was a fence that stopped me. One of those orange rubber fences you see in construction zones. I was caught in it, dangling over the side. I watched as my tube went over the other side and land among trees and rocks. I was basically hanging over a cliff. By then, a crowd had gathered. One of the workers, a local yokel, chuckled as he took his time to come rescue me. I remember my friend’s boyfriend yelling at him to move faster and help me. After what seemed like an eternity, the yokel pulled me out of the fence and I walked back down the hill to my friends.
And I went back to tubing.
I was called “Spidergirl” the rest of that trip.