Pole Position

Ski Season is upon us, and folks are talking about skis, boots, bindings, boards, and the possibility of snow.

I do not share their enthusiasm.

My own single solitary ski experience involved donning uncomfortable plastic 'transformer' boots, strapping two slippery, narrow boards to them, and riding the rope tow to the top of a hill, whereupon my instructor wrenched my ski poles from my petrified grasp, tossed them away into the snow, and pushed me down a hill, while I was standing, the two slippery narrow boards still strapped to my feet. I fell, repeatedly, and by the time I reached the bottom of the hill I had sinuses packed full of snow and was asking questions like, "And people do this for fun?"

Then it was time to ride the rope tow again. I liked the rope tow. If the rope tow just went all around the resort, I'd have done that all day. Instead of a skier, I'd have happily become a rope tower. Not a rope tower, as in a tall building... a rope tow-er... you know what I mean.

The second time down the hill, there were little kids coming so close to me, and one little kid did actually run into me. In the aftermath of the collision, he popped up out of the snow like a daisy, and was off down the slope. I stayed still, my first attempt at snow camouflage, hoping I was invisible to my instructor. No such luck; he quickly spotted me, pulled me out of my shallow snow grave and gave me a hearty shove. At the bottom of the hill, my instructor laughed and began pulling on strands of my hair, "You have snow dreadlocks!"

Yeah... try to work out why.

Back to the rope tow, and smiles all around (heh, my instructor was under the delusion that I enjoyed skiing!) and then another mat-routine-gone-wrong down the hill.

I looked as if I were performing a horrible rendition of Mary Lou Retton On Ice.

Again, I trudged toward the rope tow... see, in my mind, I'd told myself that if I survived that harrowing journey down the hill, my reward would be a ride on the rope tow- the only enjoyable part of the experience thus far. It seemed I'd invented a new winter activity- sled riding, in reverse.

But my instructor said, "I think you're ready for something else. Let's go get on the lift."

Now, this was not a British elevator. This was a chair of doom, that dangles you from great heights, and you could fall to your death or dismemberment at any point. Which meant all the agony of skiing, and if I survived, instead of the rope tow, I got punished with a ride in the terror chair.

My instructor began walking in another direction, away from the rope tow.

I did not follow.

I was frozen.

He came back, pulled gently on my wrist and said, "It will be fine. You'll love it."

I fell apart completely.

I began crying and blubbered, "I can't. I can't go on that thing. I'll barf. I'll pee my pants. I can't. I'm going to barf right now. Why can't I just go on the rope tow again?"

"Because that's boring!" he said. "C'mon, you'll have fun! It's perfectly safe!"*

I was standing at the base of the little kid practice hill, with panic in my eyes, and I think for the first time he imagined himself later recounting to his friends the 'crazy lady who freaked out on the ski lift incident' and thought better of what he was pressuring me to do.

He stopped tugging at me and said, "Why don't you take a break? You've, uh, done great today! Why don't you go sit in the lodge with your thermos of hot chocolate and vodka and I'll ski for a while by myself?"

Sounded good to me. And that's exactly what I did.

I ended up marrying my ski instructor, ha ha, and produced for him five enthusiastic skiers and snowboarders.

I've never gone skiing since that one time, and when I learned that they took out the rope tow and installed a "conveyor belt of death" "magic carpet", I lost all interest in the sport.

Now I happily bake cookies, fill thermoses, pack lunches, and wait in the lodge with my own thermos of vodka and hot chocolate.

*Below are pictures demonstrating exactly how perfectly safe a ski lift can be.

Please note that all of these photos were taken by

other skiers, with their cell phones.

You know, you always think you're going to die of embarrassment... and sadly, you never do.