No… not the one your thinking of. My word is “skiing.” I think if I go skiing ever again it will be too soon. I have a long history of skiing too, that’s why it’s interesting that I have such a distaste for it now. The first time I ever traversed the slopes was back in high school. Went with the church to Seven Springs Ski Resort in Pennsylvania. I loved it. I had found my one true love, whooshing down the hills, laughing at others as they fell, and watching my brother learn how to ski.

Next I went while I was in college to the Ober Gatlinburg ski area. That wasn’t so bad; did pretty well, a little more advanced then Pennsylvania.

Next I went with the youth group at the church the hubby was serving in. We went to Virginia the first year then West Virginia the second year. I got a little testy these times. The hubby loves to hurl himself down the slopes at breakneck speeds and curses anyone that holds him back. I’m starting to get more cautious. Starting to think about how easy it is to fall and break something or worse yet, fall off the ski lift. We saw someone minutes after he fell off the lift some 12-13 feet off the ground. He wasn’t moving. So of course your mind starts working in overtime. Hubby still isn’t patient when it comes to how slow I am. Once I take a break he races off to try and get in as much as he can before he has to endure more torture of skiing with his wife. I’m really not that bad, just cautious.

It’s been five years since my last episode. I thought I could pick up right where I left off. Hubby has promised to remain patient and stick with me the whole way. My first mistake was going on a Friday and then returning on a Sunday. Can we say nuts? My poor legs were still in recovery on Sunday. You know it’s not going to be a good day when on your first ride up the mountain you fail to get off the ski lift at the top and then have to hop off at the last second and land hard on your butt after falling 2 1/2 feet to the ground. The lift operator has to stop the lift so the people behind you don’t plow over you. Luckily the ski’s stay on. I survive the mountain and make it to the bottom in one piece… almost. At the bottom they throw in this trick where you have to perform this “s” turn (see there it is again) to get off the hill. Well, I see it and start wondering how am I going to make this? I’m heading for the ropes and I try to make myself fall to avoid the rope. I do fall and I leave my arm 4 feet behind me. As I feel my arm tearing from my shoulder all I can think is… “I BROKE MY ARM!!” I’ve got people running in from places you never dreamed.. actually the lift guy just came to check on me. The hubby comes in for a landing behind me and helps me back up. Can we say BREAK!!!! But no I’m determined to make hubby happy and prove to myself that I can do this. So I go up again. This time nothing happens, praise the Lord!!

After lunch hubby brainwashes me into tackling the higher up lift. “It’s easy,” he says. “We’ll take the greens the whole way.” You bet your sweet bippy we’ll take the greens! So up we go. And up. And up. And up. And up. Mountains are big here in Montana. We finally arrive at the top only to be slowed down because someone wants a picture. Do I care about the picture??? NO!!! I just want off the mountain. Get me to the bottom! So finally off we go! Before we hit the first turn I’m off my feet. No one told me I would be taking a 180 degree turn up here. As we get mid way it starts to snow. Never before have I been on a mountain skiing and it snowing. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Until it gets so heavy that you can’t see where you’re going. I fell again. Hubby wants me to walk all the way to the bottom… are you KIDDING me? That’s worse then skiing. So I make it to the bottom. Only to be dumped and left for dead… well not quite. Hubby takes off to go tackle some far off corner of the earth and find new ways to hurtle himself down a hill at god’awful speeds. He can have it.