Evidently I was not born to travel down a mountain at 60 miles per hour on two fiberglass blades. The weekend itself was a great getaway – lots of relaxation time and a good chance to spend quality time with Jess. We got there late Friday night and settled into our room, with thoughts of the next mornings breakfast.
The following day we rented our gear just down the street from the B&B and took to the slopes. Starting with a relatively easy run, it was immediately clear that I had overestimated my abilities. I spend equal amounts of time on the skis and on my butt, having extreme difficulty in mastering two essential maneuvers; turning and stopping. Jess, on the other hand, had no problems and gracefully made her way down the mountain, stopping occasionally to peer back at me as I came crashing down to the snow and ice yet again. We moved to the beginner slope where the gradient was pretty easy and I managed to stay upright for a few runs. After lunch, we ventured to another easy run only to be ambushed by a blizzard as we were traveling up on the ski lift. At the top the snow and clouds were thick, but I gutted it out and managed to get in a few runs before the old habits returned. At one point the ski patrol had to shoe me like a horse to clear the ice from my boot and the gentleman, although patient, was clearly annoyed that I was on such a large slope with little or no skills. All would be solved a few minutes later, as my increasingly violent falls took their toll and tore the binding from my ski.
Later that evening we enjoyed a very good Italian dinner in town and returned home the next day. Although I took my share of bumps and bruises, the weekend was thoroughly enjoyable and a welcome break from the rigors of my training program.