So yesterday was Asa's turn on the big mountain. I learned my lesson from last week and signed him up for a two hour instruction. We did a couple of practice runs on the magic mountain and he seemed to do pretty well so I left him with the instructors and went up for a couple of runs alone. Alone. I know, weird. I have to say it again. Alone. Now I use to be one who loved spending time alone. But I'm not going to lie. I felt a little panicky at first. I rode the lift alone. And I was forced to think about it. Why was it so uncomfortable to be by myself? I realized that was something I was going to have to work on- spending more time alone. Not easy with 5 kids, but by gosh, something I have to do.
So after making a wrong turn on some Snake something-or-other Trail, I found myself on the intermediate trail. Now I'm not a great skier- I'm not going to win any medals or anything. But I can stay standing, and I can turn, and I can even swish to a stop. Not so, my friends, on the intermediate trail. I knew I had gone the wrong way when I could no longer see bottom, only a drop off. But what were my choices? Go back up? 200 feet back to the other trail... uphill... I think not. Nope the only way was down. So I made my way painfully slowly down from one side to the other side, but it was icy and my skis kept sliding sideways. So I fell. I got up, and I silently cursed the other skiiers flying down past me swishing from side to side and I debated whether I should yell for one of them to send a snowmobile after me. Too proud for that, I made sideways baby steps in the deeper snow on the side for about 100 feet until I gained enough confidence to give it a go again. Note to self- green trails are good, blue is bad, black is obviously not ever happening. Ah well, so I was content on my green trails spending time with myself while feeling pretty darn good about cheating death or at least a broken arm.
Then it was time to get Asa and I told him about my predicament and he begged to go on the lift just as Aidan had the week before. It wasn't going to be a story to tell his brothers unless we did. So we are riding on the lift and I pretended that all the trails were like the one I had taken. I tried to scare him (because yes, I do want to instill some fear in these boys.. fear is healthy). He shrugged it off and said um, yeah mom, there are three year olds skiing down right there. I replied, those are the three year olds that made it. Half don't. But why would anyone do it if it was that dangerous? he asked. It's like running with the bulls, I replied. Doing something death defying. Everyone has to do it so that if they make it they are able to appreciate regular, everyday life all the more. Hmmm, he seemed to think about this, replied that he would prefer to run with the deer and that yes, he was going to ski down that mountain even if it were scary. What does it take these days to scare a 9 year old boy? Geez, kids are so desensitized these days (to quote the Grinch)... Well, ski it he did and he now had a story for his brothers. And me, well, I felt like I had truly ran with the bulls for a minute there and I was in bed by 8 pm sleeping soundly with a belly full of ibuprofen for my sore muscles. Next week is Adam's turn! Talk about having to instill a sense of fear...
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