As I have mentioned previously, I am a (to put it mildly) novice skier. Dr Husband, being an advanced skier and former ski instructor and ski racer, sees this as an insult to the glorious snowcapped Alps that we live near, and he has made it his personal mission for me to make amends. In all honesty he is absolutely correct, the snow covered views are some of the most beautiful and spectacular I have ever witnessed.
And so, at the beginning of December, after hours of research by Dr Husband (which I suspect he thoroughly enjoyed), we began our first ski trip together. My first time on skis in over 17 years was to be at Kühtai for several reasons: A) they had snow, B) there was a free bus there and back for skiers, C) they had a cheap morning lift ticket for me, and D) their “magic carpet” was open. We woke up early in equal parts to avoid crowds, get the most out of my “morning ticket”, and to satisfy Dr Husband’s constant need to ski. The free bus ride was about an hour long, and we had to haul all our ski equipment (read: so many things) to the bus stop which is over .6 mi away. Luckily, the bus stop in Kühtai is very close to the lifts.
After Dr Husband strapped me into my ski boots and skis (not that I didn’t try to do it myself because I am, after all, adult-shaped) I was equipped with all the grace of a newborn lame cow. Which is to say, it’s a miracle I didn’t hurt anyone. Next it was time to try the magic carpet! I was terrified, and my feet hurt after only several minutes of being on them. Try as I might, I was having a hard time maintaining control of my pizza slice at the top of the magic carpet. The bottom half was much easier (and safer) for me (and everyone else). Dr Husband admitted that is was a pretty steep slope for a magic carpet. It was during my fledgling attempts off the magic carpet that I noticed my ski tips’ attraction to one another: I had a hard time keeping them off of each other! Like, “get a room,” amirite?
Since I had gone down the mini-bunny hill twice my feet were tired. I decided to take a load off while Dr Husband did a run or two of the real slopes. I was secretly hoping he’d let me off the hook about going down the actual bunny slope. When Dr Husband arrived from his big person run, he ushered me to the chair lift for the bunny slope. Needless to say, once you’re at the top you’ve gotta get down somehow.
So there I stood, knees and hands shaking, looking downhill to my doom. The definition of exhilarating is “making one feel very happy, animated, or elated; thrilling.” After my first turn down that massively steep hill I found an alternate definition, “being pretty sure you’re gonna die, then not dying.” I was hooked. This is despite the fact that I had a hard time keeping myself standing on my skis. Luckily for my ego, that bunny slope was upgraded from a beginner ranking to an intermediate one shortly after our visit.
The next weekend we went to Schlick which was a much better fit for my skill level. I had a pretty big “a-ha!” moment while there that made me much more comfortable on my skis. Apparently you must embrace your death by leaning forward on your skis and relaxing your feet in your boots. I knew I had to lean forward for control of the skis, but my feet were following their survival instinct by flexing in the boot. After I forcibly started relaxing my feet my pizza became more natural and slightly more comfortable. It was wonderful. My tips would still have rendezvous occasionally though. Perverts.
I’m hoping to move from pizza to french fry this season, but for now I’m proud of the progress I have made. I'm pretty sure Dr Husband has added "Confirmed Miracle Worker" to his CV as well.