ski weekend

So this weekend I am heading out at 6:30 in the morning with a group of friends to go downhill skiing. You might think from all my talk of runs and yoga and trips to the gym that I am a big skier as well, but oh would you be wrong.

Let me paint a picture for you of the last time I went downhill skiing...

...It is after school. I am 12, and in the eighth grade. I am wildly unpopular. Nicknames for me include moo cow McPolack. I have maybe one or two friends. (When I am taking a touchy-feely class in high school, we have to write unique and kind things to people. This boy who was a year behind me in grade school writes "I think it's great that you've turned out to be such a wonderful person, especially considering how mean everyone was to you in elementary school." Yes, it was that bad.)

Anyhoo. McMumsy, in one of her many attempts to 1. Skinny me up and 2. Socialize me, has signed me up for ski club. Post-hideously long bus ride which is something that I endure due to teasing, I am standing at the bottom of the bunny slope, all bundled up in an extra-long stripey scarf that smells of mothballs and is very Dr. Who. I step my left ski into the groove and grab onto the rope tow. It tires me to feel this thing drag my weight up the mountain. I'm trying not to fall off when I realize that my Dr. Who scarf is wrapping...and wrapping...and wrapping around the rope tow. And as it is wrapping it is tightening around my neck, choking me. I am trying not to panic. I think of ways to save myself. I think I would rather die than have someone turn off the rope tow, thus drawing attention to my sorry self but then I think I really don't want to die but I don't want to ask them to turn off the rope tow, especially since I can now clearly see a sign that warns you to tuck in your scarf before getting on, and I am silently praying "please, please, please" to myself and then...

Someone turns off the rope tow. I unwrap my scarf. And sit down on my ski pants. And start sliding, ass-first, down the mountain. Of course, as soon as I get to the bottom I immediately have to get back on the g-d tow.

It was not a good start to my skiing career. I ended up being so terrible that I fell behind even the kids in the bunny slope class, and a sweet, handsome boy instructor was going to teach me solo, but I just couldn't have my fat self around him. He had better things to do with his time, I thought. So after getting caught hiding under the barn by McMumsy after skipping skiing one evening, I went back, and spent the whole time in the lodge, sipping hot chocolate, feeling bad about myself, and waiting for the interminable bus ride home.

...So, I am not so excited about this ski thing, given that the last time I went, TWENTY years ago, was not all that positive.

Also, I don't have health insurance.