Big Birdski Goes BONK! 

  

Humble yourselves therefore 

under the mighty hand of God, 

that he may exalt you in due time: 

Casting all your care upon him; 

for he careth for you. 

— 1 Peter 5:6-7 

  

  

Seems like everybody's going skiing this winter, but we're staying home. We have a daughter getting married soon. Doddering parents in crutches and casts just wouldn't go with the elegant ambiance she has planned. 

  

Aw, you say. Don't be so negative. Have a little faith in yourself. 

  

Well, I do. I have faith and I believe that I am a terrible klutz and would no doubt break something. Every time I've gone skiing, something really embarrassing has happened. It doesn't matter if I stick to the bunny slopes or go up high to the most difficult runs. Somehow or another, I always make a big mistake and take a giant tumble . . . or make someone else have one. 

  

  

  

This is not me.

 

On one particularly long and broad ski hill in Colorado on an icy day, I was the only one poised at the top. I had the mountainside all to myself! With an enthusiastic grunt that I thought was exactly like the speedsters in the Olympics, I shoved my poles as hard as I could, and took off . . . but face-planted instantly, and slid alllll the way down the rest of the steep hill, careening and cartwheeling backwards and forwards, with my attached skis skipping up and down and all around, 'til I finally stopped in a big heap. 

  

Probably 25 people skied up to me to offer a rescue, or last rites. But I couldn't stop laughing long enough to even speak. It's a miracle nothing got injured . . . except my self-esteem. 

  

  

  

This is not me, either. 

  

  

            Then there was the time in Canada, at Mount Tremblant. Now, you don't pronounce that sensibly. You have to purse your lips in the French way, and say, marble-mouthed: "Mo' Trrrrrrrrum BLUN." Having taken French in school, I mastered the name of the place right away. The ski lift, not so much. 

  

            See, I was used to one- or two-seaters in my previous skiing adventures. But at Mo' Trrrrrrrrum BLUN, they have four-seaters. It kind of looks like a park bench is swinging around in a circle at the switching station. 

  

Four skiers get dumped off, and then the park bench swings around in a great, big half-circle. The next four skiers have to be watching over their shoulders, kind of crouching with their rear ends toward the park bench, to be picked up by it automatically and carried on up the mountain. 

  

            I got it, completely. But what I DIDN'T get is that the LINE formed over on the RIGHT, and I was looking toward the LEFT. 

  

            I had our three daughters with me, and had my eyes fastened on this empty four-seater chair lift coming right toward us. Nobody had to be unloaded at the bottom, where we were. Perfect! We could all get on at the same time! 

  

In my haste to get us back up the mountain in one group for another run, it never dawned on me that I was taking "cuts," and that there were already four skiers over on the other end of the half-circle, waiting to be picked up. 

  

            Instead, I hustled our foursome over to where skiers usually are dropped off from the park bench, and the empty bench swept us right up. Sweeeet! Here we go! 

  

            But all of a sudden, here were four fairly large men's BEHINDS coming right toward us! AAAIIIEEE!!! At the last second, they saw that their park bench was already loaded. They scattered left and right, diving into the snow, to avoid a major collision. 

  

            Looking back, over my shoulder, as we were lifted up the slope, I tried to make my body language apologetic. But they were shaking their fists. "Crrrra-zeeee A-mer-i-cains!!!!" they shouted. 

  

            My face was so red, it practically melted the snow. I spent the rest of the trip trying to blend in to the snow and forest so they couldn't find me and beat me with a big Trrrrrrrrum BLUN. 

  

  

  

This is definitely not me. 

  

  

            But nothing was as bad as my very first foray into the ski world. A dear college girlfriend and I drove to Snowmass, Colo., one spring break to stay with her sister. She was working as a ski bunny there. We stayed free and got big discounts on lift tickets. I borrowed my sister's skis and gear. Nothing's better than a cheap trip to a swank place. Coooool! 

  

            Since I was a total novice, I signed up for beginners' lessons on the first day. It was comical: every other ski student was under 8 years old. As we lined up for the instructor, it was blip blip blip blip BLOOP blip blip blip blip. Must not have taken long for the instructor to realize that the tall "BLOOP" student was a total blooper. 

  

Even with the solid stability of the snowplow skiing motion for beginners, I fell a lot, and had trouble getting back up without falling back down. Meanwhile, the mighty mites in our class schussed past me, soaring over the moguls, doing tail grabs and iron crosses and back flips . . . 

  

            . . . while I was still snow-plowing, falling down, continuing to fall down while trying to get back up, and snowplowing another 10 feet before falling down AGAIN. . . . 

  

            Well, it was a humbling day. But I still had fun. By the end of the session, I mastered the snowplow motion, and even successfully completed a few gentle turns. Woo hoo! 

  

            I was supposed to meet my friend at the bottom of the bunny slope. There were condos along both sides, and an opening to the town at the bottom, toward the left. All I had to do was snowplow down there. My friend would see my progress and be proud of me. 

  

            Well, I made the best run of the day. Didn't fall a single time! And I was going pretty fast, too. But as the bottom of the slope drew near, my frozen pea brain realized one minor detail: 

  

            I HAD NEVER LEARNED HOW TO STOP! 

  

            I had fallen so many times that day, it was never NECESSARY for me to stop on purpose. 

  

            What could I do? It didn't dawn on me to fall down, even though I was a pro by then at that particular ski skill. But how to stop? Maybe . . . turn, I thought. If I gently turned and went sideways, I'd probably just slow down naturally and slide to a stop. 

  

            So I turned. But I didn't slow down. It was icy, near the bottom. So if anything, I sped up. 

  

            And here came one of those condos! It was getting nearer and nearer, and I had no idea how to stop myself! 

  

            There was a man, sitting at a table in the kitchenette, holding a coffee cup, looking at me through the sliding-glass door. As I careened closer and closer, I remember his eyes bugging out bigger and bigger. 

  

            With my arms holding my poles helplessly out to the sides, my mouth forming a perfect "O" and my legs racing forward to the inevitable conclusion, I shut my eyes . . . 

  

            . . . and clunked noisily into the sliding-glass door. 

  

Big Birdski goes BONK! 

  

            Of course, THEN I stopped, because fell backwards onto the patio with a mighty grunt. I struggled for a moment because my feet were still locked into the ski boots, and I couldn't get back up, thrashing around on the condo patio. 

  

Sadly, but not surprisingly, the guy in the condo DIDN'T leap to his feet to see if I was OK and help me to my feet. Nooooo. He smiled, no doubt thinking, "Crazy first-timer - what an imbecile," looked away, sighed, and took another sip from his coffee cup. 

  

            Hmmmmph! 

  

            I thought I was going to have the thrill of victory . . . but instead, I had the ignominy of "de feet." 

  

            But here's the moral of the story: 

  

Nothing was broken, including the sliding-glass door, my limbs and my sister's expensive skis. 

  

Even though I proved once again that I am so ridiculously unathletic that I am a menace on sports fields of all kinds, I couldn't stop laughing. 

  

My friend saw the whole thing, and came lumbering up the hill to help me. SHE couldn't stop laughing, either. 

  

Every time we think back over it, we laugh some more.  

  

Guess it just proves that as we careen through life, schussing toward that Big Ski Lodge in the Sky, we might as well have fun . . . and if you don't laugh at yourself, it's guaranteed that someone else will.