Why I Never Got To Ski

Why I Never Got To Ski


My friend, Doug, was a skier, and so were a lot of his other friends. I was the only non-skier of the bunch, but after listening to him and the others talk about their ski adventures, I decided to try it. The first thing I did was have Doug guide me through the process of buying the equipment: the ski jacket, the huge overall-type ski pants, the gloves, poles, goggles and hat. After those came the next big item: the ski boots. And then last, but not least, were the skis themselves. But I didn’t buy a new pair. Instead, one of his friends knew of a girl who was upgrading her skis, so I bought her old ones. They were not very long, which was perfect, but they were all waxed up and ready for the slopes . . . except I wasn’t. That became evident the moment I tried strapping them on outside of the ski lodge.
The area outside of the building was part of the slope, so the moment I tried standing up on the skis, I found myself sliding backwards. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop myself from going in reverse. That’s when my sister, who was younger than me by about eight years, and whose boyfriend we had come with, told me to store my skis and go inside and rent a pair of training skis. These were really short and fat and weren’t waxed, so I wouldn’t have to worry about sliding all over the place. It worked! I could actually move in them. In fact, they almost had me thinking I was in complete control. That too didn’t last very long—except this time, it wasn’t me that was the problem.
Ten minutes after I rented the skis, I found myself, along with a small group of newbies, standing around waiting for the instructor to start our lesson. That’s when the trouble began. Beside me in line was a girl, probably in her mid to late twenties. She had dark hair and was slightly chubby. The problem began the first time she fell—and I do mean the first time! It seemed like every two minutes or so she would fall, sometimes sideways, sometimes backwards, sometimes on her face. Each time she did, she’d break out in this very loud, obnoxious, hyena type of laugh. I was glad she was having fun, because I wasn’t. Every time she fell, I had to reach over and help her back onto her feet.
This went on all during our lesson, which meant, I barely got in any practice at all. So when the lesson finally ended, and the instructor said we could go up to the top of the bunny hill and practice what we had just been shown, I knew I couldn’t because, like I said, I hardly had any practice. To make matters worse, it started snowing really hard after that, so my sister and her boyfriend skied over to me and said we were going back to the A-frame bungalow where we were staying. After turning in my practice skis and retrieving the ones I had brought with me, I jumped into his SUV, thinking that the next day I’d get in my lesson.
It never happened.
That night, the storm got worse, and because it was still snowing the next day, they temporarily closed the slopes, so we started for home, which meant we had to drive from Massachusetts back to Connecticut. That wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that, in some places, the snow had turned to sleet and then black ice. After almost skidding off the road twice, Frank, my sister’s boyfriend, decided we should pull into the first motel we see and wait things out, which was what we did.
After a late lunch, we headed back up to our room. Just as I was about to close the door behind me, I heard a very loud, very familiar laugh. When I peeked outside, I saw that hyena girl had slipped or fallen on the snow at the bottom of the stairs, and was being helped up by a very cute, very slender looking blonde. Why couldn’t it have been her I took the lesson with?
The next day, after breakfast, we started back to Connecticut. By then the storm had ended and the roads had been plowed and/or sanded. Once home, I went back to my normal routine, thinking that maybe I’d finally get a lesson in at some point. But before I could, my sister and her boyfriend broke up, and the weather turned more spring-like than wintery.
There was always next year, I thought. But before winter ended fully, Doug and a couple of his friends flew west to Colorado to check out the skiing there. A week or two later, I learned that Doug’s two friends almost bought it in an avalanche, while Doug, distracted by the cascading snow, went off track and hit a tree, leaving him with severe bruises and wearing a neck brace. I saw him once during the subsequent month. After hearing all this, and reliving what had happened to me on the slopes, I decided that maybe the universe didn’t want me to learn how to ski. Fine. That’s why, when I found out about another newbie who wanted to go skiing, I sold him my boots, my poles, my skis and my goggles. I kept my pants, jacket and gloves.
But that’s not quite the end of the story.
Two months later, I was in a bar/restaurant type of place in the town next to mine. I was leaning against a post, sipping a drink and enjoying the music coming over the sound system when, between songs, I once again heard a familiar laugh. Cringing, I glanced toward where it had come from. Sitting on a set of stools next to the bar was hyena girl and the same pretty blonde companion I had seen her with at the motel. They seemed to be engrossed in conversation with some guy in a leather jacket and greasy hair.
Whatever he was saying had both girls smiling. Hyena girl even laughed once again. Then suddenly, he put down his nearly empty glass on the bar, said something to the girls then headed for the door. Good, I thought, as I continued to stare at the two women. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking at that moment, but as soon as the next song started to play on the sound system, I decided to ask the blonde to dance. Don’t ask me why, and I figured she’d probably turn me down, but to my utter amazement, she said yes! So after placing my drink on the bar, we headed for the small dance floor, leaving hyena girl behind.
The song was a fast one, which made dancing to it perfect—some girls don’t like to slow dance unless they know you well. While we danced, I decided that not only was she probably somewhere near my own age of twenty-nine, she had a really young-looking complexion. The other thing I liked about her was the way she kept looking directly at me during our dance. She even smiled a couple of times, which had me thinking that maybe I had a chance with her.
After the song ended, a slow one started. Feeling confident about what had gone on so far, I asked if she wanted to continue dancing. Smiling once again, she nodded. As soon as we started, I could feel an increase in heat radiating off her body. Nice! Real nice!
After we finished dancing, we hung out near the dance floor for a little bit and exchanged personal information. Not only was I right (she was 28), her name was Patty and she was from one more town over. The other girl was her cousin, Julie, who was staying with Patty while her parents figured out their new living arrangements— hyena girl’s parents were getting a divorce.
Before I could think about what I was saying, I blurted, “I hope Julie doesn’t annoy you with her laugh.” Patty looked at me curiously and that’s when I told her about what happened on the ski slopes. Patty admitted her cousin’s laugh could be a little grating at times, then asked if I still wanted ski lessons. That’s when I admitted I was done with the idea of skiing maybe for the rest of my life, “But if you ever want to hit a tennis ball around,” I told her, “I’m your man.” She agreed, which led us to, not only playing a lot of tennis, but a whole bunch of other things, like going out to dinner, seeing movies, attending rock concerts, doing day trips into New York City and . . . eventually moving in together.
That was ten years ago. We’re still together.