It's been two years since
the ski trip from hell the one where everyone got the plague our last trip to Loon Mountain.
Since all the kids, except John, were old enough to go to "ski school" this year, my sister and I decided to risk it and go on another ski vacation together.
And although John's runny nose worried Catie a bit a the start, I can now say with confidence that the Snellings/Casey vacation curse has been broken! We made it all weekend with no vomit, no antibiotics, no trips to the ER and only one minor head injury. (I'll get to that soon.)
Overall, the weekend was great! Almost all the kids had a blast at ski school! And clearly, my girls are being raised in the wrong part of the country, because they were born to ski!
But again, I will tell you more about that later...because this post is about me.
And I, as it turns out, was not born to ski!
I have been skiing exactly three times.
The first time was eight years ago. Brad and I had only been dating a few months when we went skiing together. It did not go well. Brad spent his childhood skiing all over Europe and is basically an expert. I have trouble walking without falling down. Neither one of us is incredibly patient. We really should have foreseen the fight that took place on the bunny slope!
Three years ago, we took our first trip to Loon with my sister and her family. Having learned from our mistakes, Catie took me down the bunny slope, while Brad skied elsewhere on the mountain...away from me. And while I did more falling than skiing, I made it down. I was very proud of myself!
And in the three years that passed between that trip and this one, my memories of skiing altered ever so slightly. In my head, I knew how to ski. How to slow down and turn and stop. It wasn't so hard! Surely skiing would be like riding a bike!
So this year, we skipped the easy slope. We rode the gondola straight up to the summit. And as I stood there on my skis, with the wind whipping around me and the snow blowers blowing at full tilt and watched the 7-year-olds on snowboards blazing past me, I did what any woman who has calmly faced childbirth three times would do: I had a major panic attack!
But my sweet, patient sister talked me through it!
I fell a lot. But I made it down the mountain.
And on my next run, I fell less.
And on my third run, I didn't fall at all.
And then, I went skiing with my husband!
And I only had like one more small panic attack after that!
Who knows? Maybe I was born to ski!
My sister and me, safely at the bottom of the slope!
(And don't worry, I will be back next week with the head injury story!)