10 truths learned on skis

I love to ski.

Even after a 23+ year hiatus, I love to ski.

Watch the Olympic downhill skiing with me, but don't sit too close or I'll slalom right over and into you and you'll spill your Cheetos.

It had been too long since I'd enjoyed skiing, snow, and mountains. I had begun to tear up at the thought of snow while pattering around in Houston's winter flip-flop weather. So when Howard said, "let's go play in the snow" and meant it, I was excited, thrilled, grateful…and terrified.

Twenty-three years had altered my gravity, strength, and hell-for-leather attitude.

What if I failed and lost my nerve or ended up doing a "yard sale" in the trees or off of a cliff? What if I did something that required my insurance to pay for it? What if my skiing skills had passed their "good until" date?

I voiced this to my friend, Joe, who told me to "Live out loud. That's who you are" and promised to pray. And off we went.

I learned a few things this weekend, none the least of which is how much I admire and appreciate my husband, Howard, who is both patient and kind…and very very funny. I also learned what I offer to you for your edification (or argument). May the wind always be at your back and terra ferma always be under your skis.

1. Snowboarder: term for obnoxious driver, impatient guy in line, or fellow slope-dweller who parks their largesse in the middle of the run/queue/slope for a wee siesta
2. Ski your own run: unless they love you or you're paid to ski, no one is checking out your awesomeness or lack of awesomeness on the slopes. They are skiing. You should be, too. Stop worrying if you look like Lindsay Vonn or Peewee Herman on the slopes.
3. Old dogs can learn new tricks: for the first time in my memory, I can slalom-tight turns on a speedy slope descent. I think my dad would be proud. I was shocked. Instead of my former modus operendi of launching like an unguided rocket down the lift lanes, I raced hell-for-leather with a few tight turns to keep it fun. Still shocked. God is so good.
4. Maren was right when she said, "cast your heart down the hill and chase after it." She said this in the 80's while we looked over a black diamond run. I have remembered it during job interviews, labor & delivery; when friends were crushed, and this weekend, when finally a long, steep, windy, blowy, tree-rich, and bumpy ski run loomed large ahead. Thank you, Maren. I still remember.
5. Après ski is glamorous whether at the Mint Steakhouse or Noodles & Company. After a 7.5 hour ski run, I was ready for a little glamor…a hot bath and pizza delivery, Baby. But, no delivery meant that we found Noodles & Company and carb-loaded for pennies. The night before – after 3 hours of skiing and 12 hours of altitude sickness – Mint had hit the spot. Takeaway: It's your adventure and doesn't have to look like the movies. In fact, it might be better if it didn't; we've all seen the ski scenes in Inception.
6. Choose your company wisely. I wish you could meet Howard. Really. I hate to give even a hint of gushing, but if you met him or saw him ski his heart out – you'd understand. Day 1, I'm punked by altitude sickness and asked Howard to go on ahead until I could release the vice grip on my head and stomach. He did and came back so excited that I had to plow through the last hours of nausea and migraine-ish headache to join him. His excitement was authentic & contagious. He knew I felt like poo and that I was afraid, but he led by example and reached his hand back to invite me to join him. Priceless, this man.
7. Chat up your chairlift companions. People are my thing. People and peanut butter/chocolate. So on the chairlifts, I'd "ATL" (ask the Lord) about what to do. Most of the time, it was an invitation to get to know a bit about the skiers to my left and right. Sometimes, it was zippo. No talking. And I got to introduce Howard to a whole new generation of skiers and myself as the "cranky missionary." Better, I heard stories, ideas, and heartbeats of a dozen or so new people. 
8. A burger in the sun is better than sushi in the shadows. Howard treated me to a burger at the Summit House high between the base and the peak. We enjoyed a feast in the sun on crackling plastic chairs and a parade of people swirling around. Yum. Yum. Yum.
9. Plan ahead. Not my strong suit, but I realized that if I wanted to maximize my chance of enjoying and not expiring on this adventure, I needed to plan ahead. As cheap frugal as I like to be, I followed my gut and purchased pink goggles, wind-resistant glove liners (YES!), and ski pants (vs. jeans & running tights.) I also had info & stuff about altitude sickness on hand because I know that I'm prone to puke & pale at rapidly ascended heights. Yay team!
10. Don't allow Altitude Sickness become Attitude Sickness: it would have been easy to allow fear and altitude funk to take over the vacation. Even though I'd waited 20+ years and cried when I gave my 190 K2s and 185 bushwhacker skis away 2 years ago, I was willing to punt this opportunity when my head exploded in the changing altitude. I hurt like a mangy funk dog, but the more debilitating was the fear and ego and fear. Get up. Go for it.