Skiing, the Sequel



Carley, her dad and I went skiing at Horseshoe Valley on Wednesday, after having to postpone from Monday. Well, more accurately, Carley and her dad went skiing, I held them up and slid down a lot of hills.

Actually, if I do say so myself, I didn't do so badly assuming I haven't skied in years, and did poorly at it when I did. We went right to it, and didn't have an instructor, so it was kinda trial by fire, but I think I passed.

I spent much of the first three hours on my butt, trying to get up, but didn't do any serious damage. The afternoon, however, I actually had a bit of confidence built up, and we tried some trickier hills - I skied all the blues and greens, and Carley and her dad ventured up to a couple of black diamonds.

I actually managed to ski the Mule Train and the Canter trails without falling, and skied one of the blues safely, but wiped out at the bottom (it was pretty much that, or hit the trees).

My main problem appears to be speed. I can absolutely not control the speed that I go down the hill, even if I do turn side-to-side on the trails. At first (read: when I didn't know how to stop), the speed kinda intimidated me, so I just fell down (that's the story I'm going with). But, once I figured out how to stop on a regular basis, once I started speeding up, I just kinda went with it.

We skied for much of the day, probably about six hours or so. Afterwards, we went to Carley's dad's parent's house for a soak in the hot tub, a drying out in the sauna (for Henry and I), and a grandma-quality dinner, including homemade lemon meringue pie that was made from scratch purely because we would be coming over after skiing and would want dessert. That is grandma logic.

It was the most fun I've had in a long time, despite being quite stiff this morning and the sleep deprivation, and I have the Centens to thank for it, like so many other things.