Me: You know, I've never been skiing
Scott: Really? Oh, we're going...
(Last week at lunch)
Me: Hey, remember when you said we should go skiing...think we'll actually get around to doing that?
Scott: Yes, I do. How's next Wednesday work for you? Can you take off work?
So on Wednesday I went skiing for the very first time with the aforementioned Scott (and can I just say, I don't remember him ever calling my bluff quite so quickly before). I know that I've mentioned Scott before in older posts. He's the one who suggested we should run a 5K together (I completed the Couch to 5K program and have since run a handful of races....though none with Scott, oddly enough) and he's also my right-side dancing buddy in Zumba class. But Scott and I actually go way, way back, back in the day when the gym just happened to be that building near the donut shop. In fact, about 20 years ago, our parents (his mom works with both of my parents in the same office) thought it would be a good idea to breed our respective family dogs. And that's the context in which I first met Scott. Technically I don't actually remember him at all during this awkward arrangement. What I do remember is asking my father why Lady kept trying to hide from the other doggie (The dog matchmaking never did pan out. Lady, as it turned out, didn't exactly live up to her moniker and ended up getting impregnated by another cocker spaniel, a runaway named "Bandit". And no, I'm not making any of this up). Fastforward about 8 or 9 years and I (quite pragmatically) asked my parents if I could get driving school lessons for my 16th birthday. As it turned out, I had to share my lesson with another kid: Scott. By this time, I had already repressed the dog mating incident, but I did remember that our parents worked together, so I was grateful to share the lessons with a familiar face. I'm not sure exactly when we fell into our friendship over the course of learning how to parallel park, use turning signals, and make K-turns, but I do know that it was pretty much instantaneous. Back in those easy-breezy days when gas was well under $2 a gallon, Scott and his new license would drive me around Salem County pretty much every single day. And that's how we started out.
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| circa 2002 |
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| 2012 |
One of the best things about our friendship now, in our twenties, is that we're both much more confident and secure individuals than we ever were as teenagers. And I'm not sure if this is an aging thing or an "I'm tired of being the fat kid" thing, but our health is much higher on the ol' list of priorities now, as well. Scott has already trimmed down to his goal weight (I've got another good year ahead of me) so his approach to things like running, skiing, or zumba, for example, is eager and adventurous. When he first proposed that we run a 5K together, he just looked at me as though what he just said was fact and not a suggestion. I, at 200+ lbs, was a bit more skeptical. See, if you were to propose the subject of "running" to most Big Girls, 9 times out of 10 they will ask you, "In this running scenario you speak of...am I being chased by a serial killer or just a mugger?" But what I've noticed about people like Scott or my fitness instructors, is that they never at any point assume that I am physically incapable of these feats. They don't look at me and think "can't" (Chrissy probably just thinks "Faster!"). When they do this, it's like some crazy Jedi mind trick that convinces me that yes, yes I can run 3 miles on a treadmill or going flying down a mountain! So let me just say this and then I'll go back to my skiing story: One of the biggest reasons I push myself forward in all of this is because I have these people to look me in the eye and say, "You're going skiing" or "There's no stopping, cheaters!" or my favorite (and please forgive the cursing this one time) "Get your ass on that floor and give me a burpee!". Back in the day when I'd sit at the table with my plate piled two stories high with food, I'd laugh about "starting over tomorrow" because I knew that tomorrow would never happen. I had soothing words of sympathy from my skinny friends, empathy from my bigger friends, and nothing ever changed. Life was simpler, I was never sore....and in my heart, I was miserable. I like to think that saying yes now to new challenges, like skiing, is my way of taking one big step away from that hopeless lump I once was.
That said, I had no idea what to expect or even what to wear for this ski excursion. Scott told me I'd need "a coat, gloves, snow pants, and warm socks". So I went to Dick's Sporting Goods and spent over an hour trying on snow pants. 'Dick's' has now been added to that long list of stores that has its own definition of "size 14" that differs from the rest of world's clothiers. Without getting too graphic, let's just say that the pair of overall snowpants went on and a baby kangaroo of belly fat hopped out over the zipper. Thanks for the boost to my ego, Dick. When I arrived at Scott's house on Wednesday morning, he let me borrow some head coverings and a pair of goggles (see picture below). We both hopped in the car and headed out to Spring Mountain.
When we arrived at the Spring Mountain ski lodge, and I could actually see the slopes and lifts, everything became very real all of a sudden. Me and my "Men's Large" snow pants were actually going to propel down the side of a hill. We went inside the lodge to get the lift tickets and I immediately spotted two tall, cute Asian guys ahead of us in line. I turned to Scott and whispered, "Well babe, so far so good". Once we got the tickets and I signed a piece of paper that probably said something like, "If the Fat Girl breaks her legs while flying down the slope without health insurance, then......succcckkkkkkkkka! Please sign here" we headed out to the locker room to get the boots. I think Scott was most excited about seeing (videotaping) me walking in the ski boots more than anything else. If you've never worn ski boots before, dear Reader, a word of caution: They're very tight (I have bruises along my calves) and they basically force your legs to bend into a mildly uncomfortable, pseudo-squat. Also, they make you clomp around like a drunk T-Rex (much to the delight of your iPhone-happy friend in his cozy, astronaut-worthy, snowboarding boots). I will say this much for my weight loss, though: it has made me much less painfully insecure than I used to be. I would have probably burst into tears with the snow pant situation alone, but then to have Scott wrastle my boots and skis onto my feet the way he did, it probably would have sent me over the edge of a body issue meltdown. I managed to survive both incidents without a single panic attack.
When we finally got to the slope, I paused and told Scott, "Look, babe. You want to be a parent some day, right? Think of today's ski trip like a practice round of sorts for parenting. I am no different than a 4 year-old kid learning how to ski for the first time and you are the parent-figure here. If by some chance I flip out and throw a tantrum, and you can't handle the situation patiently, well...then you might want to rethink procreation..." Scott just laughed and said, "OK, you can be my child...so long as you never disappoint me". The slope we started out on had just a smidge of an incline to it. It was the perfect kind of hill to practice going straight, slowing down, and stopping when you're a first-timer (at least, that's what I thought at first). At one point I asked Scott, "What do I do if I fall down? How do I get back up?" Unfortunately, Scott has never skied before, but has only ever snowboarded (apparently there's a difference in how they fall). So he suggested I fall over and go from there. So I did...and I didn't get back up for a good ten minutes. I was supposed to have asked my friends Rachael and Heidi about this before I went skiing, but I never got around to it. I vaguely recalled my friend/instructor extraordinaire Beth giving me excellent ski advice and then adding, "Oh, and when you fall you ________" Something about using the poles and upper body strength. Unfortunately for me and the poles, I had no upper body strength that morning. I gave all my upper body strength to HIIT class the night before, where we did mostly push-ups, burpees, and squats with dumbbells.
Every time I scrambled around, clutching for the ski poles to lift me up, I would look up and see the sun shining behind Scott and his perfect blue eyes and winning grin as he looked down at my pathetic efforts. After about five minutes of flopping around like a dead fish, I swatted at him with the ski pole, "You know, you're not making this any easier by just standing over me looking like the angel Gabriel!" He just smiled, "You have to figure it out somehow. I can't just help you up every time you fall. Use your upper body strength!" I swatted again, "I have no upper body strength! Chrissy took all of it!" But he was right; I had to figure out how to fall and get back up on my own without assuming he would be zooming around to help me up each time. So I told Scott to hit the slope without me and that by the time he came back, I'd either a.) still be lying on my back like an overturned turtle or b.) be practicing my snow plough moves. I don't think I've ever perspired so much in my entire life as I did while trying to upright my body. Every time a skier flew by I kept thinking, "Oh for the love of God, please, just fall already so I can get myself out of this crap situation!" Thankfully, a family of Orthodox Jews skidded by and two of the kids flopped over. I watched as both kids just unhooked one of their boots, propped themselves up with their newly freed foot, and snapped their ski back on before gliding away. And this was exactly how I got back up from falling for the rest of the trip. My friend Rachael would later ask me, "But why didn't you just use your upper body to push off the poles when you fell over?" There was nothing around me that I could use to swat at her.
Scott allowed me only a couple baby slope practice runs before pushing me towards the Lift. I protested, "That hill is not a bunny! It's a freaking full-grown hare, Scott!" He reassured me that I would be just fine (classic parent line). The Lift ride kind of reminded me of my first time on the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror in Disney World. You're on the ride, gradually ascending, and giggling happily with the person next to you. Then all of a sudden you're at the top, you get a quick view of everything below, and VOOOOOOOM! DROP! My first time getting off of the Lift was probably not unlike everyone else's first time. My ski tips were pointed up, the chair lowered, and I stood up for a whole five seconds before promptly faceplanting into the snow. And because I had this overwhelming fear of being at the bottom of some crazy ski lift pile-up, I immediately started sprawling awkwardly towards Scott and the fenced off area like some blood-crazed zombie. The snowboarders behind us told me I needed to use my poles and push off with my upper body once I got off the Lift. Seriously, has no one ever been to HIIT class!?
But it wasn't getting off the Lift that proved to be my greatest challenge. Once I managed to get to my feet (using my handy dandy Orthodox trick) I noticed that there was a large curve that led from the Lift exit and down into the slope (curves=speed, unless we're referring to Big Girls). Idiot that I was, I felt fairly confident that my moves on the baby slope would translate easily onto the bunny slope. I pushed off on my poles down the curve (big mistake), with my skis close and straight (even bigger mistake), and realized about five seconds in, that I was now re-enacting the saucer sled scene from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I literally had to make myself fall over so as to not run into a snow machine. I have no idea what Scott was doing up until this point. I'm thinking he just kind of snowboarded behind me and slowed down whenever I slammed into the snow. By my second fall, one of the ski patrolers swished up and told me I needed to work on my "pizza slice" or for you non-skiers, the wedge shape that you form with your skis to slow down. I'm sure the patroler meant well, but mainly he came off pretty patronizing (probably because I didn't hand him $80 for his 10-minute ski lesson). As I made my way down the slope (slowly), he trailed behind me shouting "You're making a pizza slice! PIZZA SLICE! PIZZA SLICE!" Now I know I've lost a lot of weight in the past year, but I'm still a Big Italian Girl at heart. If you insist upon shouting "PIZZA!" at me, you better have a steaming flat box in your freaking hands; otherwise shut your pie hole, you carb tease.
That first ski run wasn't so great and I insisted upon working on the basics (like how to be slow) at the baby slope while Scott tried the bigger trails on his own. What bugged me was that every time I successfully slid down or stopped, I kept hearing "Good job!" This made me turn around excitedly, half-expecting to see one of my instructors nodding approvingly at my efforts. Instead I kept catching glimpses of 5 year-olds gliding along effortlessly down the slope, without poles, and being praised by their doting parents.
Scott was pretty insistent that I give the slope another try. So back onto the Lift we went. When the Lift ride was about to end this second time 'round, I shot a knowing look at the Lift operator that said, "You really want the little pre-school skiers to see some fat zombie girl lying on the ground again?" and he slowed it down enough for me to hop off and remain upright. I faced the treacherous curve and, so that I wouldn't have to deal with listening to Pizza Slice guy ever again, spread my skis apart and wedged them as much as possible before I took the run. This time I also hunkered down, putting as much weight on my thighs as was humanly possible. And it worked. I slid down at a quick, but not deadly, pace and at one point I shouted back to Scott, "HOLY HANNAH! IT'S ALL JUST NON-STOP SQUATTING! IT'S JUST LIKE CHRISSY'S CLASS!" When I got to the bottom, Scott was just as amazed and surprised by fall-less run as I was. The next couple of runs we took weren't bad either, once I stopped panicking about running into small children. There were quite a few times when I'd zip around a family or a random skier and would shout "EXCUSE ME, I NEED A WIDE BERTH!" in warning (much to Scott's amusement). But overall, I think that I was every bit a successful child learner as Scott was a patient parent figure; nevertheless, I was exhausted by the time I got home.
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| he's *SUCH* a sweetheart... |
People always say that the worst part about skiing is waking up the next day. As I may have mentioned before, my body usually takes a while to let me know how and where I've hurt it. On Thursday morning, I woke up feeling alright and went to 5AM Spin class. I know you're probably thinking I'm insane for putting the lower half of my body through the trauma of 5AM Spin so soon after skiing but...well....I'm a class junkie (you should know this by now). About halfway into the class, right when we had to lower our bodies over the seats and slowly move back and forth over the handlebars, I felt sharp jabs of pain in my sides. Apparently my muscles couldn't repress their memories of yesterday's excursions. I suddenly had this flashback to Fall #2 when I slammed the left side of my body into the side of the slope. These flashes happened a few more times as the class progressed, usually around the same time Chrissy yelled out, "TURN IT UP!" It wasn't until Step class at 5:30 (told you I was a junkie) that I started to feel the bruises along my hips and rear end while we were doing squats. I know that I should have probably rested up yesterday but not failing at skiing made me feel a little powerful, truth be told. I'm like this unrecognizable version of myself who skis and then gets up to do Spin (although I did more slumping than spinning) and then does a Step class later that night. I feel like this is something my gym beast buddies would do.
Now that I've had about 48 hours to mill over my thoughts about my recent ski adventure, here's what I've decided: Skiing is not unlike the process of losing weight. I had to learn the basics and start out low and slow in order to familiarize myself with the process itself. And in the beginning, especially, I had to learn how to fall and get back up on my own without being enabled by another person (and my means of getting back up aren't always perfect). At some point, I had to actually tackle the slope itself and not automatically assume that I would fall every time I got off the Lift or turned the bend. Once it was all over, I had to actually accept that I was capable of succeeding all along. And now I am ever so grateful that I had someone with me who never once doubted my success, but pushed and encouraged me toward it every step of the way.
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