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brinshannaraWent skiing. After my father unexpectedly outfitted my brother and I with new ski equipment. Like, really, wholly unexpectedly. We stopped into a shop to get my brother some ski pants, and my dad's like, "So, would you guys like some new skis?"
My brother and I looked at each other.
"Yes?"
So he did. I got a pair of new skis, new boots and new poles. My brother got new skis and boots and new pants (since he has old poles at home). Me, I didn't have a pair of poles that weren't bent or, you know, in Virginia with my ex-girlfriend.
They're gorgeous, blue, parabolic. My poles match. My boots are dark grey.
It's. Amazing.
We got to the skihill, still sort of in shock about the purchase, and we went for a quick run.
It was incredible.
And then, I realized very quickly that my left boot was incredibly tight, for some reason, so I went back to the chalet. Turns out that the tops of my two pairs of socks AND the cuff of my long underwear were all coinciding at the same spot on my calf, and this was the precise area where my boot tightened. Ow.
Took off my second pairs of socks, rubbed my left foot so it wasn't, you know, quite as numb, and headed back out. Of course, I met up with my brother who told me my father had headed back to the chalet 'cause he was hungry. So we went back to the chalet and had a late lunch.
It felt amazing to have my feet out of my boots again, meaning that there was actual blood flowing through my feet. It was nice.
And then, back out on to the slopes.
My first trip down the hill without being in pain, on new parabolic skis, was sweet. I felt lighter, faster, in my new skis.
It took me a few runs to regain my confidence, since it had been so long, but I adjusted really quickly. My poor legs, though. My thighs were on fire, my calves were straining... it was painful, but it was really well-earned pain. Good stuff.
On my second to last run, I tore down this easy run that I've been skiing down since I was ten years old, very aware of the snow and ice beneath my skis, not even thinking about technique. It was pure instinct, especially the part where I crouched and gained speed around the curve. It was absolutely freeing. Incredible. I really felt alive, and in control of myself and my skis, and it felt wonderful.
I'm now sitting by a roaring fire in the fireplace, listening to this awful movie (Cold Creek Manor) that my brother thought my parents would enjoy. It's, well, crap. IMHO.
But the Habs are winning 2-1 with under 9 minutes in the third, and I have a pair of new skis because my dad has a heart of gold.
It's been a good day.
My brother and I looked at each other.
"Yes?"
So he did. I got a pair of new skis, new boots and new poles. My brother got new skis and boots and new pants (since he has old poles at home). Me, I didn't have a pair of poles that weren't bent or, you know, in Virginia with my ex-girlfriend.
They're gorgeous, blue, parabolic. My poles match. My boots are dark grey.
It's. Amazing.
We got to the skihill, still sort of in shock about the purchase, and we went for a quick run.
It was incredible.
And then, I realized very quickly that my left boot was incredibly tight, for some reason, so I went back to the chalet. Turns out that the tops of my two pairs of socks AND the cuff of my long underwear were all coinciding at the same spot on my calf, and this was the precise area where my boot tightened. Ow.
Took off my second pairs of socks, rubbed my left foot so it wasn't, you know, quite as numb, and headed back out. Of course, I met up with my brother who told me my father had headed back to the chalet 'cause he was hungry. So we went back to the chalet and had a late lunch.
It felt amazing to have my feet out of my boots again, meaning that there was actual blood flowing through my feet. It was nice.
And then, back out on to the slopes.
My first trip down the hill without being in pain, on new parabolic skis, was sweet. I felt lighter, faster, in my new skis.
It took me a few runs to regain my confidence, since it had been so long, but I adjusted really quickly. My poor legs, though. My thighs were on fire, my calves were straining... it was painful, but it was really well-earned pain. Good stuff.
On my second to last run, I tore down this easy run that I've been skiing down since I was ten years old, very aware of the snow and ice beneath my skis, not even thinking about technique. It was pure instinct, especially the part where I crouched and gained speed around the curve. It was absolutely freeing. Incredible. I really felt alive, and in control of myself and my skis, and it felt wonderful.
I'm now sitting by a roaring fire in the fireplace, listening to this awful movie (Cold Creek Manor) that my brother thought my parents would enjoy. It's, well, crap. IMHO.
But the Habs are winning 2-1 with under 9 minutes in the third, and I have a pair of new skis because my dad has a heart of gold.
It's been a good day.
no subject
Date: 2004-03-21 03:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-21 03:28 am (UTC)You realise this is a "problem" you are NOT going to get sympathy for, right?
no subject
Date: 2004-03-21 03:47 am (UTC)Skiing (and the ski stuff) is the bribe he's using to accomplish us to come up to this place, in the middle of nowhere.
But it's pretty with the snow. I can deal.