Skis...Check! Concussion...Check!

I should probably just go ahead and preface this post with an age-old comment (which is perfect for this discussion): If you can't laugh at yourself, then who can you laugh at?

Skiing: a sport in which participants must travel on skis... hmmmmm....

Snow is a funny, funny thing. Having been born and raised in the south, I can only think of a few select times that we actually had enough snow to play in. I'm not talkin' that ice/sleet stuff that we manage to get every year, I'm talkin' the beautiful, white, fluffy snow that you see in pictures. You know, that snow that's ideal for skiing. So, you can imagine my reaction when myself and three others decided to hit the slopes a few weekends ago in North Carolina.

Aside from being consumed with excitement, I have to say I was dealing with an extreme amount of anxiety. There's just something dreadfully intimidating about standing at the base of a snow covered mountain with your feet strapped ever-so-tightly to two long pieces of wood. Ok, so the standing part wasn't near as intimidating as the feeling I got when the the infamous words came out of Paul's mouth, "It's ok, Evelyn. It's really not that hard, just point your skis downhill and go with it."

Hmmmm...

"And go with it" just doesn't seem like the last words I want to hear before I die. Ok, ok, so we were just heading to the bunny slopes...which brings me to the first of many questions I still haven't found the answer to. Why would someone stick the bunny slopes at the bottom of a steep hill? I'm sure there's some angry little man somewhere nearby just peeping through the woods at the (for lack of a better word) beginners bustin' their tails just trying to get to the bunny slopes.

So there I go, completely clueless as to how I was going to manage this, but somehow staying on my skis and reaching the bottom. I'm thinking, "Not bad, not bad. I actually might be able to make it through the weekend without breaking anything." So after getting a brief lesson from Ski-Pro Paul, who glides like a penguin across the snow, I decided it was time to give the bunny slope a go.

I should probably add a little background information on the scenario in which we experienced that Friday night. After renting our skis, arriving at our cabin, throwing on our ski clothes and heading to the slopes, we made it for the twilight skiing. Sure, sounds fun right? Skiing in the dark while they're making more snow...so exciting, huh? Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. Not really all it's cracked out to be. So anywho, we arrive at the slopes and decide beer and some shots are only going to make this experience that much better! So we hit the bar in the lodge and then the slopes...which brings me back to the bunny slope incident.

I'm in my skis and headed for what looks like a conveyor belt, but for skiers to ride on. There comes question number two, "Who sticks a conveyor belt in the snow and expects you to actually ride on it, WITH skis on?" Like other experiences in my life, a little alcohol and my inhibitions are out the window.

I approach the conveyor belt, skis pointing up the mountain, and I step forward to gracefully ride to the top of the slope. Not so much. There was nothing graceful about whatever it was I was doing. One ski made it on the belt and the other was left squandering behind (with my leg still attached to it I might add). In a naive attempt to balance myself and reposition my skis, I managed to plummet off the right side of the belt (which was conveniently a snow covered ditch about two feet deep). At this point there isn't much I can do except laugh. Lauren, who is bent backwards laughing at her sister, tries to get out an, "Are you ok?" Paul, who is the most encouraging person I think I've ever met, minimally contains his laughter long enough to help me back on the conveyor belt.

Ahhhhh, an excursion to the top of the bunny slopes. ha

At this point I'm thinking, "Holy crap, this is going to be a long trip!" We Davis girls don't just give up though. Nope, that would be too easy. Instead, after three more runs down the bunny slope the most interesting thing happened. Words of mild courage came out of my mouth, "I think I'm ready for the real slopes now."

Dun, dun, dun....

Excited about the sudden change in pace, Lauren and Paul decided we should probably get on the ski lift closest to the bunny slope. They saw no need in taking off our skis and climbing to the top of another hill in order to reach the next ski lift, when there was a lift right next to us. Sounds good to me. So, still somewhat agreeable at this point, I line up for the lift with Lauren on one side and Paul on the other.

What a nice ride, I'm enjoying my rest and the somewhat dark scenery when I start to realize the lift ride is really taking a bit longer than I expected. On top of that observation, I start noticing the incline at which we're traveling at this point. Still oblivious to the idea that nor Lauren or Paul really knew where we were going, we finally reach the top and I hop right off the ski lift. I'm thinking, "Ok, this isn't going to be so bad...at least I made if off the lift."

Then I hear it, words that sound a bit like uncertainty coming from Paul. Personally, I cannot think of anything less comforting that the sound of uncertainty (borderline fear-for-my-safety) coming from the person teaching you to ski...at the top of a mountain! So I look over my left shoulder and all I see is the edge of the mountain. Lauren who is fearless, just pushes right off and heads down. It's apparent, as I watch her instantly disappear off the edge, what I was about to deal with.

That's right ladies and gentlemen, we had taken the ski lift to the highest point. I take one look at Paul and say, "Nope, I can't do that." Of course his reply is, "I'm sorry, I didn't know we were going to the top. It's ok, I'll help you down the mountain." What else was there to say except, "No seriously, I can't go down that." Then he goes about fifteen feet ahead of me (or below me considering the circumstances) and stops. He throws out a, "See, I'm right here. You'll be fine...promise."

So there I go, all the while thinking I'm going to die and a bit relieved we visited the bar before heading up the slope again. Of course, I ski a bit then panic that I'm going too fast and plop right down. Then up...ski...then fall again. This continued for about six good falls and then I decide, "Ok, I can do this." So I brace myself for what could possibly be my last trip down the mountain, and I head downhill.

I must have gone ten more feet before managing to make a ninety degree turn to the left. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of experiencing skiing (or a black diamond), let me enlighten you on what a ninety degree turn going mach three down a mountain will do to you. I'm pretty sure my tail end hit the snow first, then all I could really see was snow and my skies going different directions over my head. The only word that comes to mind is tumble, and that's putting it lightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must have heard you wrong. You meant stay ON your skis....Ok, that makes sense."

Ahhhhh, good times.

Well, I actually made it to the bottom in one piece. Face covered in snow and water...which was a mixture of face-plants into the snow and the snow from the blowers blowing in my face the whole way down. So, Paul hooks us up with some goggles and we're off to try it again.

I, with my knees still shaking and a death grip on my ski poles, head toward the ski lift for the intermediate slopes. Lauren and Paul truck along right beside me with nothing but words of encouragement, "Don't worry Evelyn, this one won't be near as bad."

So we ride the ski lift up and I actually manage to make it down the slopes several times without falling. I was doing pretty good for myself. Aside from the few ice patches that resulted in loss of control and a quick fall, I think I was really getting the hang of it.

Note: Never get cocky when you're attempting a new sport.

So Lauren, Paul and I decide to go down the same intermediate slope a few more times before calling it a night. We get on the lift and make our way up to the top. I wasn't really aware of this, but did you know they have a little "lift shack" (I'm pretty sure I just made that name up) that someone sits in so that they can stop or slow the lift if needed? And you would think that since they're paying someone to work that little shack they would actually stop the lift if....let's say...three people pile up underneath it. Yeah, that's what I was thinking too!

Lauren and Paul try to prepare me for our (awkward cough) lift dismount by telling me which way to turn so that we all make it off ok. In this particular case we needed to make a hard right off the lift to what I would now call the "safe zone"...b/c apparently there are lots of unsafe areas when getting off the ski lift. I'm thinking, "I got this. All I need to do is make it over there without knocking Paul or Lauren down."

Sounds pretty easy, right?

As we're proceeding off the chair lift, I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking about. Whatever it was it obviously had nothing to do with getting off the lift safely. I hop up and with one not-so-swift motion I manage to take Lauren and Paul down with me. Unable to contain my laughter, I just sit there. I glance over to Lauren, who is holding her head with a confused look on her face, and manage to get out a, "Sorry, Lauren." She just looks back at me and says, "Ouch, one of those poles in front of us must have hit me in the head."

About that time, out of nowhere, the ski lift chair smacks into the back of Lauren's head. As Lauren assumes the fetal position, I hear Paul say, "Holy crap, the chair just knocked Lauren in the back of the head....twice." Being the insensitive (somewhat tipsy) sister that I am, I reside in the snow consumed with laughter. It wasn't funny that Lauren was hurt, or that the lift chair was still swinging from left to right, but more the fact the chairs were still flying by...one after another.

Finally pulling it together, I lean over and ask Lauren if she's ok and all I get in return is a, "Do you think you could move over!" So I try to move to the left, but given our positioning that particular maneuver just wasn't happening. Paul pulls me out of the way and then Lauren to safety. (I'm thinking his calling should have been a lifeguard rather than a doctor given the dragging technique he used to get me out of the way.) In retrospect, with my huge blue ski suit and immobile body, I'm sure I looked like the beached whale of the scenario. The analogy fits quite nicely, seeing as how I needed a crane to assist with getting me back on my feet.

What a tough one though! Lauren gets up, shakes a little snow off and heads down the mountain like a pro. We decided to do another trip down the slopes and then called it a night. We figured we had done enough damage for one night.