Wednesday, February 11, 2004

   The joys of the "great outdoors."
I would like to start this post with one, simple, statement: _ _U

Alright, let's backtrack...today was...how should I say this? Half good, half really...well, not good. At all. *ahem*

Okay, so on the positive side, I got to miss my last three periods, meaning the fact that I did not do my math homework and forgot my science project at home didn't matter.

In order to go skiing. *sweat* For the first time. Ever._ _U

So, I got to go skiing, however...


My boots are brand-new, and seeing as I am flat-footed, and have trouble walking in normal shoes for long periods of time without getting achey feet, I felt as though the non-existant arches of my feet might have fallen off. Or crumbled. Or something.
Also, it took me about half an hour to figure out how to walk with the goddamn skiis. Even though the things are unbelievably light, compared to water skiis (which I can use with extrordinary adpetion, if I dare say so myself), don't have keels, and are locked onto your feet, I fell over three times. Just...standing there. Trying to get them off was...well, more falling down._ _U
Yes. Well.
I went down the bunny hill four or five times, did not manage to turn at all (even though my dad showed me about ten times how I was supposed to, to eventual and moderate avail...), and then somehow ended up on the slightly larger hill. Which looked like Mt. Fuji from where I was standing, and with my lack of experience. Not only did I manage to lose control, and start going down the hill at a breakneck pace, but managed to try and stop myself--the key-word being try.
So, as I had been told that when you lose control, you have to slowly sit down, on the snow, and wait until you slide to a stop or something like that, I tried to. And ended up sitting on the backs of my skis.

Now, when I had started going down the hill, I was sort of in control, I guess. For three seconds. The first thing I thought was, "Okay, I can't do anything without fucking it up somehow...so I'm bound to find a way to hit something, though by who's will I do not know."

Said hill is about 25 meters (that's about 80 ft.) wide, and on either side of it there are, you guessed it: snow banks about four feet high, on top of which there are trees. Joy.

So, I start off at one side of the hill. After three seconds (like I said before) I lose control. I'm going way too fast--so, I try to sit down. This wouldn't have been a mistake, if I hadn't, as I stated before, sat down on my skis instead of doing the intelligent thing, and doing what my dad told me to. Anyway, I'm now somehow going almost horizontally across the hill, and after about ten seconds, I'm going up the far snow bank. And am hitting a tree.

My dad and the three ski patrollers said they could hear the SMACK from fifteen meters (45. feet) away.

Hokai--so.

I'm sitting there, thinking, "We-e-ell...this is typical, if nothing else. Gee, my legs hurt--I wonder if they're broken. Who's that guy running towards me, waving his hand, and screaming for the guy in the same-coloured-jacket-as-him to come over and page Cathy. Who's Cathy? Oh, he's coming over here. Wait...I just crashed into a tree; fancy that." So, the poor man runs over, followed very quickly by my dad, who looked like he had just seen a ghost (or perhaps several), and another, younger, (est tres, tres beaux^^) guy. He starts panicking, right away. So, he's a ski-patrol guy...I didn't think this place was big enough to need these people...but I guess I sort of proved myself wrong. Anyway, he's freaking out: "OMG! Don't move! Don't move! I'll get you out of your skis! Don't move! Don't worry! Where does it hurt?! Did you hit your head?! Didyouhityourheadareyousureyoudidn'thityourheaddoesithurtanywhere?!
Doesyourneckhurtareyourkneesokaydoyourshouldersorarmshurtanywhere?!"
I think he was expecting me to cry, or be at least surprised, or something. But, I was just like, "No, actually. No, my legs don't even hurt that much, now that I think about it. I think I can get up now." Anyway, the guys keeps panicking, and radios for some lady to bring a "tobogan." And I'm thinking, all this time, "Christ allmight, Mister, thanks for the concern and all, but I'm really okay."
So, seeing as my knees hurt just a little (they still kind of hurt a bit, I guess), he helped me stand up.
They then proceeded to ask me if I was okay, again, and when I said, "I'm fine! Really!", the (apprently much-more-adept) Beaux Gar De Patrouille de Ski canceled the radio for the tobogan. Nevertheless, some lady shows up. I guess she must have been the elusive Cathy.

So, finally, my dad has to sign a release form saying that no, I'm not dead, or anywhere near being dead, and that no, it's not the skiing facilitie's fault in any shape way or form. Once again: Joy.

My dad was panicking for a while after that, but I finally convinced him that I really was fine. Then, we got to ride the ski-lift! Yay! Of course, I nearly got winded by the god-damned thing when it came up behind me, and nearly fell on my face when it came time to get off._ _U

Then, it was back to the bunny hill for me. So my dad could teach me how to turn, and of course, ever-so-importantly, STOP. Sure, it was kind of embarrassing sharing a hill with a bunch of four-year-olds who were skiing better than I was, but the tow-rope-lift was fun!^__^

So, now I can, when skiing down a 30-degree slope, make wide turns in order to avoid pilons, and, eventually--eventually!!O_O""--stop. Sometimes. Eheheheh...*shlooooooooop*

So, we get home, just as my mom is calling. Now, we were supposed to have been out later than we were in reality, so I don't know why she bothered calling home, but hey... Anyway, my dad informs her that I hit a tree, and that I scraped all the bark of of it within a certain radius, and that there is bark stuck in the buckles of my boots. I could hear her through the phone, from ten feet away. Once again:_ _U

Anyway, I'm home now (obviously), and am revelling in the joy of not having anywhere to go, not having anything to do, and having an Edward Gorey treasurey right next to me, for easy reference. Life is good sometimes. Heh...

It also occurs to me that I was never cut out for winter sports of any kind--I have never been able to skate. After two years of tutelage, and five years of skating, I could still never skate properly. As for skiing...well. *ahem*
Why couldn't it be more like water-skiing? When you let go, you can actually stop...unless you do it seriously, in which case you just keep going, and eventually sink, calmly into the water, halfway. And then, you fall over (backwards if you're lucky).^^ Isn't it neat how you just sort of float on top of the water for a few seconds?? Heehee...

I wont bother writing about the evils of my art teacher, but I will bother writing something else. I write this solely because it makes me look like the most adept skier on this planet we call Earth. It's really that rediculous.
My history teacher came into class on Monday with his left arm in a sling. He had been with the skiing trip on Friday, so we all figured that he had fallen on the hill. Well, those of us who didn't know the details.
Anyway, I ask Smif (or somebody...?o.o) how he broke his arm. "Did he fall?" No. "Did somebody hit him?" No. Okay, so I'm running out of options here, when she elaborates: "He was standing on the hill, when somebody yelled for him to look. He turned his head quickly, and it threw his arm out of its socket." Straight as a rainbow...that's what he said he was.O.o

Well...that really is the end. Ta-ta!
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