Skiing

I learned to ski when I was about 10 I guess. My dad was a skier and as each of us reached a certain age (probably the age at which the hand me down boots fit) he would take us out for a trial run. He took me one evening to The Pines, a local ski area in Northern Indiana. I was not a big fan by the end of the lesson. I was cold, the rope tow was painful, and I fell down a lot. Later that year, or perhaps the next, we built a small snow mound in our backyard. I'm not sure why, maybe for sledding. It was maybe 3-4 feet high and we cut some steps into the back. I decided to learn how to ski on that mound. I went out one day and side stepped up the back, turned around and slid down, over and over again. Maybe I was older, maybe I was stronger, maybe it was the lack of a rope tow, but I started to feel more comfortable on skis. Next time we went to The Pines, I was hooked.

Over the years I skied only sporadically. We went to the Pines only a few times a year, if that. Instead we would venture to Lower Michigan for a day trip to one of the ski areas, usually Swiss Valley. My dad, oldest sister and younger brother were the usual crowd. I became more and more adept. Once a year we would take a weekend trip further up in Michigan, or a few times, to the UP. I was never an expert skier at that age, just good enough to manage most of the hills in the Midwest.

When I got married I stopped skiing. My husband tried it once, but that was enough for him. We lived in areas where convenient skiing did not exist. So, I went about 20 years without putting skis on. I started once again when my sons showed some interest. We live near a small ski area, sort of like The Pines I grew up with. Over the last several years I've gradually regained my confidence as a skier, although I haven't ventured off the small hills of Central NY.

I find skiing to be so relaxing. There is a natural rhythm and mindlessness that accompanies a trip down the hill. You are focused only on the area right ahead of you, on your body, and on the sound of snowboarders creeping up behind you. On a quiet day, when the slopes are pretty empty, you can just let your mind go blank. I've worried a few times that I would fall asleep on the chairlift ride back to the top. The gentle swaying of the chair, the fresh air, the warmth of a parka all make for a drowsy skier. I like riding up alone, and on quiet days that is easy to do. Once at the top, I favor the wide cross-hill turns and slow descent. I'm in no hurry. I savor the feel of the wind on my cheeks and the rhythmic turn and turn as I make my way down. If I could spend my whole life skiing, I'm convinced, I could solve all of my problems.