We loaded into the car and headed up, up, up the mountain. This time I rode with my eyes closed and tried not to snicker at Dick's passenger seat driving advice to his brother. We got about 6 inches of new snow last night, but that isn't official. The local channel is out of Denver, and its weather is about 20 degrees warmer. I didn't figure this out until a couple of days ago when I couldn't understand why it was much colder than 29 degrees. Uh, because it was like 9.
The Nordic Center was more crowded than when I was there on Monday. We paid and booted up. I have begun wearing Julie's neck warmer, and boy was I glad I had that on today! It was cold out there, but the new snow was just beautiful. Clint looked like he was born to cross-country ski, and he took off, showing off his skills. I must say that he was very helpful and would stop and wait for us to catch up. If we were having problems, he would come back and help us.
I did not fall first. Tom did. Then Madison. Then Darcy. I was ignoring everyone and talking to myself.
Me: "Knees bent, Cara, you can do this. Lean forward, slow steps, do not lock the knees."
I was happily sliding along until we came to a hill, and I mean HILL--not one we'd gone down in class, and not a small one. It was a hill I wanted to skip.
It ended under a little bridge. I watched everyone go first while I worked on psyching myself up. Tom also gave me a pep talk and insisted on following behind me.
I started skiing down, and suddenly I was flying. I screamed and shouted at the top of my lungs.
Me: "AAAAAAHHHH, I don't like this. I don't like this! AAAAAHHHHHH."
Then I began crying as I flew down the hill.
Tom: "You'll be fine. You'll stop eventually."
And I did! I came to a stop right under the little bridge. My heart was pumping, and I was gasping for breath, but darn if I wasn't still standing! I was feeling a tad smug, despite the crying and screaming, and then I looked up at the next hill we had to climb.
I became a bit annoyed. There was no way this was a beginner trail because the next hill was a tiny mountain.
Poor Madison couldn't get up the thing. She had to take her skis off and walk. I, however, was determined to make it on my skis. I tried and tried and tried to get up the mountain. I went into the V that Matt had taught me. I pulled with my poles. Finally, Clint came down and talked me up.
He had me walk with my skis in the V, but this time I tilted my skis inward. I thought my right ankle was going to break, but I made it. It was like I had been at the gym on the elliptical for 100 minutes. My thighs were screaming, my lungs were gulping air, and my knees were shaking.
But I did it!
The rest of the trail was beautiful. I got into a rhythm and slid effortlessly at times. I pushed with my toes and rarely had to use the poles. When we came to a downhill slope, I'd brace my hands on my knees and go with the flow.
I was skiing.
Then we came full circle--back to the tiny mountain and bridge. Now, in reverse, I was to ski down the small mountain to the bridge, and then, I'd trudge up the crazy hill.
We rested for several minutes, which just made my heart rate accelerate the more I stared down the tiny mountain.
Down went Clint, then Dick, and then Tom. I was worried if the girls went next, I'd run into them, so I made them wait. I knelt, put my hands on my knees, gave myself a pep talk, and pushed off.
Down, down, down.
Only, instead of going straight, I went to the right and slid directly into the 4-foot snowbank. And when I say that I slipped into it, I mean I literally skied directly into the snowbank so that when my momentum stopped, and I landed on my ass, I was buried beneath tons of snow to my chest. I looked like those people on the beach who bury themselves with sand. (No one took a picture)
The girls started asking me if I was okay, but I was laughing so hard I couldn't respond. Darcy skied down to me, and I just lay there and laughed. Then I tried to get up. I couldn't. I literally was buried up to my waist.
In cross country skiing, you have to get on your side and get your skis together while you roll your body inward to stand. I couldn't roll. I couldn't move from the waist down, and I couldn't stop laughing. I kept thinking that the men would come back to rescue me, but I could see them way up ahead, already at the top of the next hill. I finally had to use my poles to dig my way out. Once I got one ski unburied I used it to unbury the other one. Finally, I got free.
Now came the hard part--standing--on a hill. Each time I put a ski down, it would begin sliding, and I'd be back on my butt. After three times of that, I tried sliding on my butt down the hill, but apparently, my butt wasn't slippery enough. Determined, since I'd done so well up to this point, I grabbed ahold of my inner warrior. I could do this.
The girls were at the bottom by this time, Madison on the ground, Darcy standing. I gritted my teeth, turned, got up on one ski, which immediately started sliding, rolled on to the other ski and down I went, flying faster than I ever had all day.
I was going so fast there was no time to talk to myself, no time to remember to turn my skis into pizzas to slow down, no time for my life to flash in front of my eyes.
Down, down, down, I flew until I got under the bridge, hit a patch of icy snow and tumbled, face first over the top of my skis. Not what I was supposed to do and boy, did that hurt. I, of course, landed on my right arm, my chin in the snow, one of my feet behind me, ski up in the air. I rolled over on to my back, and I'm not ashamed to admit it, I cried.
The girls were upset and skiing toward me, so I sucked it up and got back up on my skis. By now, Tom was headed our way on foot to assist. I refused his help and made my way up the hill and back to the lodge.
I was concerned that I had done some damage this time. Before, I was joking with my hurt arm, but this time, I was serious. It was throbbing and moving it caused pain and burning. My left leg was the same.
I wanted to go somewhere warm and curl into a fetal position. At one point, I cried again.
Me: "I want my Mommy."
UPDATE: I'm happy to report that my arm is back to being just painful as my first skiing incident. I downed ibuprofen, huddled under a blanket by the fire, and took a 30-minute nap. I can move and lift my arm.
I believe I will be sore tomorrow, but I think I shall live.
I'm also freezing. I can't get warm. Clint and I are relaxing before the fire and sipping champagne, enjoying the quiet as the others ventured off to Keystone for some tubing.
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