"Flannel and beards," he said. "It looks like Alpental. These are my people."
McCaw Hall is where I have season tickets to the Pacific Northwest Ballet. The ballet crowd is decidedly different. I would have let this event be a father-son bonding experience, except Jack was on call and he might have needed to bail; therefore, I needed to be there in order to drive the Boy home in case Jack needed to go into the hospital. I had a long week at work, and needed a break. I wanted to do something more relaxing than watch an adrenaline junkie movie.
I've watched another skiing movie with the Boy, something that takes place in Norway and has English subtitles through half of it, but the plot was really easy to understand.
1. Crazy and talented young men seek adventure.
2. Crazy and talented young men ski down some super steep and dangerous shit.
3. Crazy and talented young men survive.
Earlier in the week, I made plans to take the Boy and a friend skiing on Saturday at Crystal. This was early season snow, and the Boy was ready to hit the pow. This movie only amped him up, while it made me more more terrified to get back on the slopes...until the middle.
A snowboarder who jumps off cliffs recalled a story from his grandfather.
"Take it easy," said the snowboarder, "but always take it." In watching two hours of testosterone fueled insanity, I found a golden nugget.
When I said I was going to drive to Crystal, I had every expectation that I might not ski. The next morning, the Boy packed up my skis along with his. In my bag, I packed my helmet, gloves and a book to read in case I bailed and decided not to ski.
While the boys took off on the blue and black runs, I went on the beginner hill. After ten runs, I thought of the what the snowboarder's grandfather had told him. Take it easy, but take it.
I did a few more runs on the beginner hill, but I was getting more and more afraid of the beginner skiers and snowboarders. One woman fell off the lift after it got four feet off the ground. A father with his kindergarten age son didn't get off this lift and the top and had to jump off as it went around the loop. I rode the lift once with a (water) skier from Australia. This was his third run ever on a snowboard. I feared getting off the lift with this guy.
I'm not going to get any better on the bunny hill, I thought. I could only progress so much on flat terrtain. I decided to get on the real mountain around lunchtime. Most people headed into the lodge so the lines were very short. I got to the top, looked around for the easiest way down, and went. I was terrified and exhilarated at the same time, much like young men and women in the movie from the night before. My threshold for what would be considered terrifying was much less than theirs, but it was still terror nonetheless.
I did a few runs, and went in for lunch. After lunch, I did another run. The snow was soft earier in the day, and now there were bumps from where everyone had skied. My legs were tired, and I went back to the bunny hill. It was time for me to take it easy. I realized I was spending too much energy turning to get down the hill, and in return I'd get tired much faster. Before I tore my ACL, I could ski all day for days in a row. Now I was afraid the burn in my thighs might mean I might get hurt.
As I was taking my last run at 3:55 p.m., minutes before the lifts closed, I got a text from the Boy. We are at the lodge, ready to go. They were tired before me, a first. The problem I had been wrestling with at work seemed to fade into the background as my struggle to ski came to the front. As my friend Christina told me, I was using my body and giving my brain a break. I felt at peace, more than I had felt in a long time. I was happy to have taken it, to have gotten back on the snow.
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