During the endless pandemic, my antsy and outdoorsy spouse has stored up more energy than a field of solar panels. So, post vaccinations and booster, he suggested a ski trip. As a skier, I am somewhere between awful and casual beginner.

Following an FBI-type search of our attic, I located the ski garb.

Surprisingly, my 10-year-old ski pants still fit. I now wear Spanx to ensure they zip, but they work. With a ginormous duffle filled with gloves, helmets, parkas, and two pairs of Spanx, we headed to Colorado.

To break in my glide, we hit the Nordic track for cross-country skiing.
Though new to the sport, as 11% Norwegian (a nod to, I figured I would be a natural.

I more than make up for what I lack in athletic ability with determination and overconfidence. A biathlon had to be on the horizon. All I need is a rifle: Or is it a bow?

That day I slid across a golf course turned Nordic track. It was child’s play, except for the downhill parts. The only way I could stop was to throw myself on the ground. Two hours later, I could fall and stop on a dime. I began to doubt my Viking roots.

The next day for downhill skiing, I rented titanium-stiff boots and premium skis. After cross-country skiing, I was ready for the challenge. One run into the day, and I was hungry. Just wedging myself into Spanx, ski pants, two shirts, gloves, and boots was a workout. Halfway through my bowl of bisque, I noticed my left leg was numb. I loosened my boot and gave the mountain another try.

Then it happened: My left leg went rogue, unresponsive. I couldn’t get into my usual ski stance – the snowplow. I returned to the lodge for further investigation.

This time I ordered a Caesar salad. I took off my boot and realized that my novelty Dr. Fauci socks had bunched up and impeded my blood flow. I straightened out Dr. Fauci and headed out again.

Feeling full and confident, I zoomed past several other “green” skiers. On our last run, a private instructor and toddler cruised by, both giving me a “thumbs up.” That’s when I knew I had found my sport.

Share this article...
Email this to someone
Share on Facebook
Tweet about this on Twitter
Share on LinkedIn

Michele Valdez

Michele Valdez, a slightly compulsive, mildly angry feminist, has been an attorney, volunteer, and The Mad Housewife columnist. She has four demanding adult children and a patient husband.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.