Of Valentines and Ski Lodges...

Years ago I “met” my husband on a skiing trip. I say it with quotes because I had already met him…he was my friend’s brother. But it was on this trip that something shifted and I began to see him in a whole new way. This post isn’t about that, though. It’s about the fact that on that trip, I never skied. His sister and I hung out in the hotel staying warm and doing spa-type things while all the boys went and did crazy things in the snow. And so last week as we headed to my husband’s company ski trip at Mad River Mountain, Isaac commented to me, “So, this many years after that trip I FINALLY get to ski with you?” Before you start thinking this is a post about how I met my husband, let me tell you it's not! It's a post about me… and skis. Spoiler alert: We don’t get along.

I was ready! I had my special snow pants, a warm coat, and gloves. Had my hair and makeup lookin’ good (hey, from what I’ve seen on E!, and Access Hollywood you’re supposed to look good on the slopes). I grabbed a pair of rental boots and skis, poles…the whole deal and was ready to rock! I smiled at Isaac and had a vision of what fun we would have. I don’t think I’m delusional, but the picture I had in my head of how things would go looked something like this…




In reality, it was more like this…


Skis I learned, are not just big shoes. It’s tricky to get back up after you’ve fallen down and another news flash…it was cold! Not just cold, but blizzard cold. The wind blew and the snow stuck to my cheeks causing a brain freeze that would have made Ben and Jerry envious. Now, it’s important to note that I didn’t want to take lessons. I was there to spend time with Isaac and have fun. I didn’t have time for “lessons”, so I headed for the hills. About halfway into our ride on the ski lift, I realized we were still going “up”, and that eventually I would have to find my way “down”. I swallowed hard and pretended to be cool with it, but inside…my heart was pounding. The lift let us off and I tucked my poles under my arms… “Whoooo hooo!” I yelled to Isaac in a scene reminiscent of What About Bob, “I’m skiing”! But that was just to the summit.

There were two trails. The one to my left looked intimidating, tree-lined and kinda steep. The one to my right looked better. It was wider and not so steep. I headed that direction just in time to see the headlights of the groomer coming up the hill. Someone got out and stuck a sign in the ground that read “Closed”. If tears wouldn’t have frozen to my face, I would have cried right then and there. To the left I went. It wasn’t 10 feet before I fell, and there was Isaac to pick me up. 20 more feet and I fell again. Again, he picked me up. The pattern repeated pretty much the whole way down the hill and I realized maybe I should have taken that lesson after all. While I tried the kiddie hill, and then that trail that was to the right (it finally opened), I spent most of the rest of the day in the lodge sipping warm beverages. Not wanting to be a wet blanket to Isaac’s fun, I told him to keep skiing…I’d be fine. At one point, I did venture back outside…to the kiddie hill…by myself. And as I slowly descended, another skier rushed past me out of nowhere, stopped in front of me and smiled. It was Isaac. He had seen me from out on another trail and chased me down just to see how I was doing.

This Valentine’s Day, I really don’t really care about flowers, or cards or chocolate (well, maybe chocolate). I care about the fact that I’m blessed to have the most amazing husband who doesn’t care if I can ski or not. He’ll wait for me, he’ll pick me up when I’m down, and he’ll look out for me…always. A girl can’t ask for more than that.

Wishing all of you out there, that kind of Valentine’s Day.