P
Paulthenurse
Guest
So my daughters and I have a long tradition of "sugar coating" each other when we ski. The game is, you don't want to be the first one to stop, because the person uphill is going to spray you with snow. The harder you brake off, the more snow you shoot in the air and "sugar coat" the one who made the mistake of stopping downhill. And of course, it's my first time skiing this year and I forget and stop a few hundred yards down from the top and she totally covers me. I mean, i'm a snowman! And she is laughing her head off because she got me so good, and I lose my balance and fall over! Now she's killing herself laughing. How much of a loser am I, I fall over while standing still on a green lift run? I would have laughed at me too, if I wasn't so redfaced.
So I get up and promise her that payback is a real bummer, and take off down the hill. I get about halfway down and I come to the entrance to the snowboard play area. (We were at Wachusetts, my first time there. A fun little hill, nothing hard, nice views. Pretty pricey for what it is, but...) So I decide to ski into the playpark. I had checked it out on the chairlift ride up, there were a bunch of pretty good jumps, a few rails off of snowramps and a halfpipe. I ask Beth if she wants to come with me but she just laughs and says she'll head down to warn the ski patrol that they are going to be busy in a few minutes. And deep down inside I know I'm making a mistake, but there is no fool like an old fool. Especially an old fool who doesn't want to admit that he's an old fool.
So I'm standing there looking down at a series of three jumps. I've already ruled out the rails off the ramps, not so much because I can't do them, I just don't see the point. (I guess it's a generational thing... I don't see why I would want to endanger my gonads by jumping up on a handrail on a skateboard; I would have been perfectly happy to live my life without getting a tattoo and would never have done so but for a misplaced trust in the Red Sox; and I only wear my hat backwards if I am actively engaged in catching a baseball game.) That leaves me the series of three progressivly larger ramps on the right. I'm still ok, I haven't taken a big jump in probably 10 years and don't think I've ever taken three in a row that are this big, but I'm good! I can do this. I'll show her that her old man can still rip it.
And just as I'm about to push off this kid standing next to me looks up at me and say's, "Hey Mister, are you ok?" I didn't think I was hyperventilating, but who knows? And it struck me that I'll be 45 in a month, my skis are older than any 2 of the kids that are within earshot and I'm shixxing twinkies in my skipants. Well, nothing for it but to suck it up and hope I live thru it.
I point my skis downhill and pick up a little speed. I get a good push at the top of the first jump and fly for a few seconds. I land on both feet and keep going in good form. I'm lined up for the second jump and am going at a good speed, not to slow but not so fast that I'll land in Worcester. I miss the second jump, I launched a split second too soon and weakly dribble over the edge. I figure I'll make up for it by ducking into a tuck to gain some speed. (I'm taking tremendous poetic license calling what I did a tuck, it was in all honesty more of a squat...) I line up the third jump, the biggest of the three, and nail it. Big air! Huge air! Nosebleed air! And I momentarily forget that I'm 44 and 11/12th's and I'm on skis that predate my college freshman by several years and I do a 'Backscratcher.' "Who da man? You da man!!!" And miracle of miracles, I manage to get them back underneath me before I land. Unfortunately, I'm off balance and leaning to my left and by the time I manage to get myself back under control, I'm dropping over the right side of the entrance to the halfpipe. Oh Shix!
Now I haven't tackled the jumps when I hit the slopes in a long time. I don't do mogul runs any more, I avoid ice, I don't do more than one or two black diamond trails a day, and if I'm feeling lazy, something that has occured more and more in recent years, I avoid them completely. But at least I know how to jump. I've never even considered heading into a halfpipe. I distinctly remember the thought flashing thru that tiny piece of protoplasm I call my brain, "Just stay in the bottom and you'll spit out to the other side in a second." But no, I'm a badass! I just landed three in a row, with a backscratcher thrown in for good measure. I'm a bad motherxxxxer. So I angle to the left and go four feet up the wall, cut back and head for the other side. This time I get about halfway up the wall and barely manage to hold it together as I turn back down. I've cut it back too steep and I'm heading straight across, no downhill angle at all and I'm screwed. Straight up... Straight down. YARD SALE!!!!
The little kid from the top stops beside me.
"Please God, let him say, "Wow, that was cool!!" But alas, even a 10 year old can recognize an old fool when he sees one. "Hey Mister, you alright?"
I manage to collect all of my stuff with the help of my new friend, snowplow out the bottom of the halfpipe and head straight for the Lodge. Fortunately, Bethie was already on the chair when I bottomed out. That spared me the indignity of having to explain why Dad needed a break after a half hour of skiing. Oh well, the good thing about being an old fool is you don't get carded at the bar. I'll be okay in a few minutes. "Bartender, I'll have another, and directions to the bunny slope."
PTN
So I get up and promise her that payback is a real bummer, and take off down the hill. I get about halfway down and I come to the entrance to the snowboard play area. (We were at Wachusetts, my first time there. A fun little hill, nothing hard, nice views. Pretty pricey for what it is, but...) So I decide to ski into the playpark. I had checked it out on the chairlift ride up, there were a bunch of pretty good jumps, a few rails off of snowramps and a halfpipe. I ask Beth if she wants to come with me but she just laughs and says she'll head down to warn the ski patrol that they are going to be busy in a few minutes. And deep down inside I know I'm making a mistake, but there is no fool like an old fool. Especially an old fool who doesn't want to admit that he's an old fool.
So I'm standing there looking down at a series of three jumps. I've already ruled out the rails off the ramps, not so much because I can't do them, I just don't see the point. (I guess it's a generational thing... I don't see why I would want to endanger my gonads by jumping up on a handrail on a skateboard; I would have been perfectly happy to live my life without getting a tattoo and would never have done so but for a misplaced trust in the Red Sox; and I only wear my hat backwards if I am actively engaged in catching a baseball game.) That leaves me the series of three progressivly larger ramps on the right. I'm still ok, I haven't taken a big jump in probably 10 years and don't think I've ever taken three in a row that are this big, but I'm good! I can do this. I'll show her that her old man can still rip it.
And just as I'm about to push off this kid standing next to me looks up at me and say's, "Hey Mister, are you ok?" I didn't think I was hyperventilating, but who knows? And it struck me that I'll be 45 in a month, my skis are older than any 2 of the kids that are within earshot and I'm shixxing twinkies in my skipants. Well, nothing for it but to suck it up and hope I live thru it.
I point my skis downhill and pick up a little speed. I get a good push at the top of the first jump and fly for a few seconds. I land on both feet and keep going in good form. I'm lined up for the second jump and am going at a good speed, not to slow but not so fast that I'll land in Worcester. I miss the second jump, I launched a split second too soon and weakly dribble over the edge. I figure I'll make up for it by ducking into a tuck to gain some speed. (I'm taking tremendous poetic license calling what I did a tuck, it was in all honesty more of a squat...) I line up the third jump, the biggest of the three, and nail it. Big air! Huge air! Nosebleed air! And I momentarily forget that I'm 44 and 11/12th's and I'm on skis that predate my college freshman by several years and I do a 'Backscratcher.' "Who da man? You da man!!!" And miracle of miracles, I manage to get them back underneath me before I land. Unfortunately, I'm off balance and leaning to my left and by the time I manage to get myself back under control, I'm dropping over the right side of the entrance to the halfpipe. Oh Shix!
Now I haven't tackled the jumps when I hit the slopes in a long time. I don't do mogul runs any more, I avoid ice, I don't do more than one or two black diamond trails a day, and if I'm feeling lazy, something that has occured more and more in recent years, I avoid them completely. But at least I know how to jump. I've never even considered heading into a halfpipe. I distinctly remember the thought flashing thru that tiny piece of protoplasm I call my brain, "Just stay in the bottom and you'll spit out to the other side in a second." But no, I'm a badass! I just landed three in a row, with a backscratcher thrown in for good measure. I'm a bad motherxxxxer. So I angle to the left and go four feet up the wall, cut back and head for the other side. This time I get about halfway up the wall and barely manage to hold it together as I turn back down. I've cut it back too steep and I'm heading straight across, no downhill angle at all and I'm screwed. Straight up... Straight down. YARD SALE!!!!
The little kid from the top stops beside me.
"Please God, let him say, "Wow, that was cool!!" But alas, even a 10 year old can recognize an old fool when he sees one. "Hey Mister, you alright?"
I manage to collect all of my stuff with the help of my new friend, snowplow out the bottom of the halfpipe and head straight for the Lodge. Fortunately, Bethie was already on the chair when I bottomed out. That spared me the indignity of having to explain why Dad needed a break after a half hour of skiing. Oh well, the good thing about being an old fool is you don't get carded at the bar. I'll be okay in a few minutes. "Bartender, I'll have another, and directions to the bunny slope."
PTN
