Oh, sh#t, I missed the chicken run!

Okay, okay, no idealistic political commentary, I promise. And I will save my diatribe on how healthcare is by necessity a socialist entity for another blog. Today's is just fun...mostly. So, I first started skiing when I was 21, and my maiden voyage was a Christmas holiday in Breckenridge, Colorado with my sister, and my good friend Taylor. We were there as guests of her family, and it was one of the best trips ever! I learned to ski, and despite being responsible for 100% of me and 25% of Taylor's dad--inside joke, but very funny if you know it ;)--I didn't break anything. I did, however, develop a health respect for the face of a mountain, specifically the steep face. :( After that I made a couple trips in college (does Michigan really count as skiing, though?). Flash forward to 2009, when after living in Tahoe's backyard for several years, I decided I needed to get back on the slopes. So, started heading up to Sierra at Tahoe on days off, and who would believe it, practice does pay off! I'm not saying I'm the next Peekaboo Street, but I was pleased at the progress. So along comes 2010, and I make it out to Steamboat Springs for a godson visit, and I am ready to hit the slopes. I am ready to show off my skills! Look at me, I can ski! Yeah, I was pretty annoying. So head up the mountain, fun day of skiing, and now it is time to come down. Now, this mountain actually has a gondola that takes you down. Of course, I am the big shot skier, and I don't need the gondola, do I? Wrongggooo. I got to the lip of the run and I looked down at the steepest face I have ever seen, I swear! Holy...so I started down the run, making it two feet before wiping out, admittedly terrified. The fact that I started to slide down the mountain sitting on my skis did not help. I managed to stop, but I couldn't get up without sliding again. I looked back up at the top and it seemed too far to climb to, and was doing my best not to look down. I wanted to cry, I was so scared. So I did...cry that is, for about a minute. Then I took a deep breath, pushed myself up, focused and slowly finished the job. I don't think that makes me special or gives me any fortitude, but it did prepare me for the next time something like that happened. Which was yesterday. Me, skiing at Red Lodge in Montana, last run of the day. I had taken the second lift to the top of the mountain and they had just closed the ski lift behind me. Okay, maybe not the best idea given that I seem to be barely above novice, but one of the lift operators told me there was a nice groomed blue run that could get me down. Well, I totally missed it. One minute there was a sign for it, next minute, I am heading down moguls on my first diamond run, EVER. Oh, how I envy those who make it look easy... Once again, I am starting down the run slowly (don't look down, don't look down), and of course wipe out. This would not have been a big deal--I've done this before, right? Focused and slow, focused and slow--except, the ski patrol was coming down the mountain behind me, making sure everyone is off. How embarrassing! Here, in my finest hour (whatever!), I am being escorted down the mountain by two ski patrolmen who are watching my ski, fall, get up, ski, fall, get up, all the way down this run, probably thinking "What a stupid novice! She should know better.." In my defense, I didn't fall too many more times, and the view alone made it all worth while... amazing, big sky country... :)