SKIING AT TAHOE

 

 

I can still do it! It’s that sacred rhythm I love so much about skiing and I got it back after a couple of runs. I wouldn’t say that it’s exactly like riding a bike, but there was some vestige of muscle memory way down deep that I was thankfully able to access and it felt marvelous. 

However, I think my black diamond days may be over. 

Edie and I started on green for our first run, quickly moving to blue, but every time we rode up, I was itching to try that mogul hill beneath the chair lift. She warned that it looked pretty steep. “Oh, no”, said I, “I love moguls!” and off I went, turning eagerly at the top of the hill, toward the deadly “Little Dipper”, yelling over my shoulder, “I’ll see you down at the lift!” 



Me and Edie on the Slopes!

 Hmmmm. . . it’s taking a little longer to get my ski legs back on this one. Hmmm.. . . I think I may even be going over . . .down, down, down, I plunged into the snow . . . ok, not a bad one, I brush myself quickly and get  back to vertical. Hmmm. . . well, isn’t this interesting? I can’t seem to turn. What’s that about?  I remember being a pretty decent mogul skier in my day.  It must just be the heavy snow of Tahoe; I’m used to skiing in the powdery Rockies. . . . Oh, God. .. I really cannot turn in this stuff … BIG FALL! Both skis popping off kind of fall. A hat full of snow, goggles iced and fogged completely, a cold, wet sensation underneath my jacket kind of fall. Hmmm. . . do I even remember how to get my skies back on my feet? 

You have to understand I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t scared because I have no pride. I will cross the slope in a wide traverse snowplow, (aggravating anyone else who may be interested in actually skiing it), or heck, I’ll take the skis off and walk down if it actually comes to that.  So I waved up at Edie on her first ride above me on the chair lift, somewhat nonplussed and trying to appear optimistic. Her second pass found me on the ground, declaring, “This is clearly above my ability.”  By the time she rode above me on her comfortable chair lift for the third time, I briefly considered asking her to get the ski patrol.  

And then it happened - that magical moment of surrendering to reality.  I am 56. I have not skied in 20 years. I have not skied moguls in over 30 years. Yes, there was a time that I bounced through the bumps in Wyoming in my early 20’s but alas, I am no longer a hot dog. I wasn’t frustrated. I wasn’t even discouraged. I was gifted with some semblance of grace and gratitude that I can ski at all! I recognized that I am now a solid intermediate skier, (Edie assured me that my form was perfect), and I can enjoy that for the rest of my days. But you know those times when you’re just up against it? The aging process gets us all one way or another. I want to grow older well. I want to be able to just surrender in the middle of the mogul fields. I’m sure there will be more up ahead. . .

Me and Edie On the Deck

 

The guys were great.  Kevin and Rob were formally our “pit crew”, (coined by my good husband).  They drove us up to the hill, picked us up, carried our skies, helped us off with our boots (how did I ever get my own boots off?), drove us back home, eased me in the hot tub and cooked us dinner. Small correction:  Kevin cooked us dinner. That man can cook! Imagine coming home from skiing to the following meal:

• Salad with all sorts of goodies (and perfect vinaigrette).
• Rib eye steak with the bone removed (cooked a perfect medium rare, sizzling with butter).
• Mashed potatoes (with lumps).
• Spinach casserole (with buttery crumbs and cream).
• Fresh bread and butter. (just in case we needed more carbs)
• Chocolate (always a hit). 

View out our Window - Rob Droste

Three days of this! Eating and skiing and laughing and telling stories with good friends. What’s not to like? What a different world up there! That is something I absolutely love about California.  In the space of a few hours, one can be in a very different place. Compare the magnificence of Lake Tahoe, seen right out of our window, and up close on the slopes, with the grittiness of Telegraph Avenue in Oakland! I feel like I really got away. Skiing on that mountain seems almost surreal looking back on it. The bracing cold blew any cobwebs remaining from the vertigo clean out of my mind. Oh, good, gracious God, I skied again! I never thought I’d have the balance to do that a year ago. And I’ll have you all know that two short weeks later, my knees are finally beginning to bend again.

 

View out our Window - Rob Droste