snow stories (lyn)

Yesterday, in anticipation of a big snowstorm today, it was announced that schools in NYC would be closed.  Later, Horace Mann made the same announcement.  Before a single snowflake has fallen, the media has dubbed the storm snowpocalypse. 

Like a small child on Christmas Eve who gets up in the middle of the night hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa, I awake at 3am and look out my window.  No snow.  Disappointed I go back to sleep.  But when M calls at 7:19 and wakes me, I open my shutters and see a beautiful flurry of wet snow.  My first concern is my Wednesday Weight Watchers meeting.  I hope it’s still on.  I assume it is, and dress accordingly (my usual skinny black pants and white T).

On my way to class, I reminisce about skiing.  I was a fearless skier, and good.  The tougher the trail, the happier I was.  I could out-ski most all of my friends.  I still sometimes regret that I never had my ACL fixed after I injured it in Steamboat Springs in 1999.  And I probably won’t now.  But some of my best memories are from skiing.

I started the sport in 8^th grade, and often when on ski trips with my family to New Hampshire.  But it was probably Shaker Village ski camp with Vivien, where I learned to ski.

In 10^th grade, I went on a ski trip with the local YMHA.  On the way back from New Hampshire, we hit a snowstorm, and ended up stranded on the highway, returning 14 hours behind schedule.  While my parents worried (there were no cell phones then), my teenage friends and I were having, as we said then, “a blast.”

In college, carrying my gold wooden skis and lace-up boots, Vivien and I hitchhiked across the Kangamangus Highway in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  The reason for this ridiculous venture was understandable: we had met some fun guys on the slopes that day, so meeting up with them on the other side of the mountain that night seemed reasonable.  And why not bring our ski equipment with us, just in case we decide to make a night of it and want to ski with them the next day?  As it turns out, Vivien began dating one, a character named Odie, and for about two years after, we would ski with Odie and his friends most weekends.  

I was skiing with my college boyfriend, Bob, when I fractured my left leg in three places at Attitash.  It was 1970, and getting around campus was difficult.  So in March, I just stopped going to classes, but still tried to keep up with my work.  To commiserate, Vivien stopped attending classes as well.  But that was the year of the Kent State shootings, and all finals were cancelled and college closed early.  Good for me; good for Vivien; horrible for the country.

I was a ski bum for one winter break at school.  I was hired as a chambermaid at the Fundador, a Bavarian-looking ski lodge near Stratton Mountain.  My friend Scott was the bartender at this hotel, and had been for years.  It's the only reason I was hired.  On Day One it became clear that my housekeeping skills were sub-par and I was re-assigned as a waitress, a much better job.  I'd wait tables for breakfast, ski all day, wait tables at night, then play until early morning.  It was a great month.

My boyfriend after college, Don, didn’t’ ski, but was eager to learn.  He was a good athlete, and despite his fear of heights, thought skiing would be easy.  I was with him on his first chair lift experience.  I explained how to get off the lift, “When you get to the top, just sort of stand up and ski down a little ramp.”   I got off; I looked around.  Don wasn’t there.  Then I noticed that the chair lift had stopped, and a nearby lift operator was looking up and shouting, “Okay, sir, just relax.  We are going to get you down.  Don’t panic.  It’ll be all right.”

I skied in Cervinia Italy with a few friends.  One side of the mountain was Italy, and the other side was Zermatt Switzerland.  On the more relaxed Italian side, the T-bar was shut off before the day ended, and my friend and I were still on it.  We ended up having to hike half way up the mountain, but the trip down was amazing.

Eric had never spent much time skiing when I met him, but he was an eager and good learner.  In 1992, we went to Vail twice and Utah once.  He caught on quickly and was soon skiing the double black diamonds.  On a trip to Vail, we got caught in a mega-snowstorm and couldn’t make it to the airport in time to return home.  We ended up spending the night in a small hotel in Dillon, Colorado, and made the most of our unplanned extended weekend.  The next morning we skied Arapahoe Basin, an untamed mountain where signs were posted everywhere that read,  “Caution!  Hidden and Unmarked Objects,”  or "! Expert Unmarked Obstacles." And then that same afternoon, we skied the backside of Keystone, through the woods.  It was a magical day of skiing.  

So as I’m sloshing through the snow on my way to Weight Watchers, I’m lost in thoughts of another time.  I arrive at class and am glad the door is unlocked.  About ten others have made it to class.

I step on the scale and am relieved when Miriam smiles broadly and announces that I am down one pound.  I’m so happy with this number that I decide to brave the blustery weather and walk the mile home.