Pure Michigan

Yesterday, my brother, sister-in-law, nephews (ages 3 & 5) and I took a trip up to Michigan for a day of downhill skiing. The day began with the mini-van arriving at my door early in the morning. I had all my gear packed up as well as a pillow and blanket. After an exhausting week at school, I planned on sleeping during the two hour drive. That plan was quickly derailed with questions from the third row of the mini-van such as, "Barb, why are you sleeping?" "Barb, is your nap done yet?" "Barb, can I have a napkin?" "Barb, here, I'm done with my breakfast sandwich." "Barb, when are you going to get married?" So, I slept just a few minutes here and there on the drive up.

When we arrived at our destination, Bittersweet Ski Resort, it was quickly discovered that the nephews' snow pants had been forgotten at home. We headed into the lodge to see if they had any size 4 and 5 snow pants for sale. While they did have snowpants for sale, they were both size ten with a price tag of $80. With few options available, it became apparent that the boys will be wearing these high dollar pants for the next 5 winters of their lives. After fashioning a belt for each nephew out of cord cut from my coat and some major rolling up of the legs, we were on our way to the slopes and by slopes I mean bunny hill.

As this was my first time downhill skiing (I have previously water and cross-country skied), I was in need of a little instruction. Unfortunately, the instruction consisted of my brother saying, "Ok, we're going to take the boys up and ski them down. C'mon!" So, with those extensive instructions, I rode the conveyor belt up and attempted to ski down. I only fell twice and was able, with a little difficulty, to get back up. The second time down the bunny slope, I fell and was stranded like a turtle on its back for at least 5 minutes if not longer. I just could not get back up. Finally, a guy gave me a hand and helped me back up. At this point, I was sick to my stomach, drenched in sweat (21 degrees outside), and exhausted from trying to stand up over and over and over and falling right back down over and over and over. I decided to take a little break and practice falling down and getting back up. I didn't want to get on the main slopes and not be able to get back up. Well, the practice did not work because every time I tried to get back up, a nice stranger came over to give me a hand. After a while, I heard a lady holler at her son to just unclip one of his boots when he fell. This became my game plan and my brother and I headed over to the ski lift to go to the top of the slopes.

At this point, I was a little frightened as my experience on the bunny slopes could have been in no way considered a success. My sister-in-law assured me however, that it was a lot easier on the real hill than on the bunny slopes. As she is no professional skier, I believed her and we headed up. On the ride up, my brother gave me lots of instructions, most of which I paid no attention to. They were things like, "When you want to go right, pick up your right ski a little and turn your waist to the right and you might want to push down on the inner edge of your left ski and blah blah blah." Which I interpreted as, "If you get going to fast, just fall over and stop." One piece of advice that I should have listened to a little better was to stand up when the lift reached the summit. For some reason, I didn't fully stand up and the lift turned to head back down the mountain with me still sitting in the chair. This tripped the emergency cord and stopped the whole lift. So, I attempted to finagle myself off the lift while dozens of people were suspended in the air wondering what dumbass had not managed to get off the lift.

After more instructions, most of which never fully sank in, my brother and I headed down the slope. It was much easier than the bunny hill and I had an easier time getting up when I fell. After a few times, I was going pretty fast down the slope and was pretty sure I looked like an Olympic skier with snow flying each time I made a turn. As my confidence grew, I decided it was time to take a few more risks. At one point, I was zipping downhill and decided that I should take the small hill with a steep drop that you cannot see the bottom of. Halfway through that adventure, I decided it was not such a smart decision, as only an hour ago I was flailing like a turtle on the bunny slope, and I wiped out in a truly spectacular fashion. I'm not talking a fall over. I'm talking a roll down the hill with appendages flying. I eventually recovered and, when I made met up with my brother at the bottom, he said, "Why is your face covered in snow?" I guess my big wipe-out wasn't such a secret.

After being at Bittersweet for 6 and a half hours, it was time to head home. The older nephew (age 5) wants to come back and take a skiing class and learn how to snowboard. The younger nephew (age 3) said he had fun but next time, "I'll just stay home." The boys and I slept most of the way home and I was starting to get sore by the time we got back. This morning, I hit a new level of soreness and am sore where I didn't previously know muscles even existed. I'm ready to go again though.

Vail, here we come!