Falling forward

Just returned from an amazing trip to Park City, Utah. I have been lucky enough to have skied in several ski resorts all over the US and in Italy and this was by far the best ski trip thus far. Some of the trails are incredibly long, so you spend much more time on the trails and not waiting to get on a lift chair. Park City actually has three seperate ski areas all within ten minutes of each other and there is a great little downtown area full of cool shops, bars and cafes. We even went to the Olympic Park and got a chance to witness a live Bobsledding trial up close. They go so fast you jump if you are anywhere within ten feet of the track. On the last night we went tubing so we could revert to our 5 year old selves (like we didn't do that the rest of the trip).

As for the skiing, I somehow managed to stay in an upright position and did not fall once the first three days. Amazing for a soul as accident prone as I am. On the third day we rode up a lift with a ski instructor-a Cuban dude named Orlando originally from Miami. On the 15 minute ride up to the top he asked if I had taken a lesson and I told him it was my 7th time skiing. He told me everyone should take a lesson and gave me one, for FREE (hello, private lessons are over a hundred bucks an hour-cha ching) on the next trail down. He actually helped my technique quite a bit, even though I still, well-suck. Like I said, I did great until the very last hour of the very last day. Read on.

Here are a few lessons I learned this trip:

1. It is nearly impossible for a girl to do the hover and pee move while wearing ski boots. I can't quite explain it, except that it seriously cannot be done.

2. The "Please wait" sign posted on the padded gate as you wait for the next lift chair is there for good reason. On the last day I was so excited to get back on the mountain that the top half of my body was working much quicker than the bottom half-my skis were a few feet behind my head-not good. When my turn came to get on the ramp to wait for the chair, I had one of those "yellow light" moments-ya know, the kind when you are driving along in your car and you are 20 feet from the light and it turns yellow and for a second you are debating whether to stop or go? I totally should have stopped. All of me. I got my jacket caught in the damn gate since my feet were so far behind me. Down I went in front of a nice long line of laughing (ok, in their heads they must have been) spectators.


3. The "Please sit all the way on the back of the lift chair" sign while boarding the lift chair is also there for good reason. In one of my least proud moments, I somehow managed to not get my fat butt all the way on the seat before we were at least 6 feet up in the air. David was talking to me one second and the next he was looking down 90 degrees to see me laying on the ground like one of those CSI Miami victims that got pushed off of a roof. Fortunatly David Caruso was not present, but instead there were two cute ski lift operators there who picked me up under my arms and loaded me onto the next chair, but not before my graceful actions made all 100+ passengers swing in their stationary chairs while I was placed in the next chair.

4. The "Please keep your tips up" sign while unloading the lift chair is also there for good reason. You think I would have this embedded in my tiny brain by now, but you start chatting with the very interesting couple from Boston sitting next to you, you go to get off, and BAM-you find yourself french kissing the end of the snow covered ramp.

5. It happens to everyone, right? Well, 2, 3 and 4 would not have been quite so bad if it hadn't all happened in sequence. I kid you not. If I had a tail, it would have been between my legs. And that brings me to #6....

6. Just when things couldn't get more humiliating: I was just boasting before my Three Stooges impression that I hadn't fallen once-and then after making an arse out of myself on and off the lift I took a deep breathe and promised myself I would finish out the day without any further incedents-at least I hadn't actually fallen while actually skiing. Yeah-good job. I obviously couldn't find a wooden tree to knock on. That very next trail off of the cursed lift was actually a cursed trail. I fell not once, not twice, but three times. There are several types of falls people have while skiing. They range from "God, I am so STUPID" to "God, Please let me walk again". My three falls were something in between with the last one closer to the latter type. At the end of a very long, but beautiful run over covered bridges and under tunnels my left ski hit a few rocks and off went my ski-at least 20 feet below me. My pole was 20 feet above me. I usually love when I find a quiet trail with no one around for minutes at a time but not at this instant. David was already around the corner and didn't see my acrobatic display. I lay there in pain for a few minutes before crawling uphill to retrieve one pole before sliding ass first (how many time can I use the word ass in the post) to retrieve my ski. My binding had ice shoved in every crevice and my boot just would not go back on. Finally two snowboarders came by, I thought they would help me. Instead, being the nice teenage idiots they were, they sprayed me with snow from the edge of their boards and laughed as they sped away. Nothing like adding insult to injury. All I know is that David, who had stopped to wait for me when he noticed I wasn't behind him, didn't know I was laying helpless on the hill until he heard me screaming "#$&%*&@@@&*%^*^&%&*" at the punks. Hubby finally met me halfway as I walked down to meet him. Luckily I was close to the lift back to the lodge at that point. I was so done.

7. Not that this has anything to do with skiing, but I would move out west for the good hair days alone. No flat iron needed.

I can't wait to go back-next time I will just try to adhere to the signs.