I grew up near Lake Tahoe So, of course why wouldn’t I learn to ski 600 miles away in Park City ? Even Utah’s license plate boasts the state has ‘the greatest snow on Earth.’ I’m nowhere near an expert skier, but come on! How hard can it be? Even if I fall I’ve got a soft fluffy cushion. Piece of cake.
I chose the upscale Canyons Resort for my first snowy excursion. (If you can’t pay for expensive lessons, then what’s the point, right?) I also splurged on some ski pants and a red and white sporty jacket. If I failed (the horror!) at least I could lounge around the fireplace in style martini in hand. Win all around.
My mother suggested we hire a ski instructor so we could learn the correct way. She was taught by my father decades ago. Her lesson ended with my father’s face planted in the snow…because she ran over him. My father was so traumatized he stopped skiing forever. And his wooden skies have since become outlawed in several states. (They now hang as decoration in his garage.) So, what could possibly go wrong?
First, I lost my sunglasses. A subsequent area search ended after I found them on the top of my head, under my knit hat and only AFTER I bought a new replacement pair! My mother, on the other hand, lost her hat. “But it was so cute!” Once again we returned to the same store (“Hi again.”) to buy her a new and cuter hat plus tax.
Then it was time to try on our ski boots. I clunked-clunked so fast I nearly hit a wall! Ski boots definitely defy gravity and other well-know aspects of physics. I got the hang of it about an hour later; I wasn’t going to let boot awkwardness stand in the way of me eventually winning a gold medal in skiing!
Next up was the gondola lift. Very high-tech looking. Better be, I paid a lot for these private lessons!
The ride up was absolutely breathtaking, not only because of the awesome natural beauty, but because the frigid air nearly froze my lungs! The ride was so long my mind started to wander. “What happens if the gondola stops? How would we get down?”
Who knew the Canyons owned so much land? And it’s hidden so you’d never know unless you explore it. (In comparison, Deer Valley owns 19,000 mountains and Park City Resort owns half of Utah. Fact!)
I was so proud of myself for initially getting on the lift that I totally forgot I also need to get off. P. Diddy said it best when he said ‘mo money, snow mo problems!’ Luckily, there was enough room for me to jump out and not harm anyone with my erratic arm flaying and leg tangling. Gondola lift up? Check.
We made our way (I remember lots of yelling and whining on my part) to a small snow patch for our lesson.
Our instructor John* asked us about our previous experiences: I confessed about my real first time, when I too landed flat on my face during a 1991 practice run. I cried hysterically and promised myself I’d never ski again. My mother relayed her previous plunder.
“What’s this called I’m doing?” he asked as he crossed his skis tips.
“Pizza.”
“Plow”
“I’m dealing with two completely different generations aren’t I?”
With children barely old enough to walk nearby, he herded us to a smaller spot where we slid another patch of snow.
“Good. Now do that ten more times.”
“Huh?”
Ten runs later I knew I had my gold medal in the bag! I grinned from ear-to-ear. John pointed. “Let’s move to a more difficult hill.”
“But I’m fine with this one.”
“It’s flat.”
I graveled the entire three feet over as screaming two-year-olds whizzed by me. Traffic cones were placed out for us. “Try to turn around them. Take your time.” And I did. All 20 or so seconds.
“Now, we’ll learn how to use the lift.”
I can’t tell you how many times I used it, but I remember falling on my side and holding up the line for the toddlers several times.
As my journeys downhill got easier, I got more tired. It was the most exercise this self-proclaimed couch potato got since the day before when I scrapped ice off our Ford Escape. Even more surprising to me, I actually learned to ski correctly within three hours.
Two quick snow storms later I was hooked. Skiing? Check.
After gracious thank-yous on both sides, we bid adieu and clunked-clunked our way back to the giant gondola. It seemed easier this time, maybe because I was becoming a ski professional. The ride down was just as gorgeous and breathtaking. Then the gondola abruptly stopped mid-mountain. “O-M-G, we’re gonna die!” I exclaimed.
“Stop it.”
A long five minutes later it moved again and everything was fine. My personal bucket list could once again be placed on the back burner. Gondola lift down? Still workin’ on it.
We ended our day eating at one of the many restaurants the resort offers. Maybe it was me, but I felt some kind of camaraderie with my fellow skiers. I mean, we all started somewhere – most likely face first in the snow.
* John is not his real name. I am protecting the innocent from any embarrassment I may have caused. Sorry, John.
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