Meet my nemesis : Powder

We just got back from an incredible vacation in Whistler, BC while Toby enjoyed some quality time with my parents.  I think it was  a success all round - -I’m not sure how my mom is going to cope without Toby, though, after getting used to having him around all of the time.  My dad even started getting  up early just because there was it was so exciting to be awake with Toby around.

 

Rob and I had a great time seeing friends from out West (and some from home as well) and enjoying our new skis.

 

I have to say – there aren’t many sports where a change in equipment can suddenly make you THAT much better.  But changing in my 10 feet long, neon gree, pointy tipped skis that I bought used when I was in grade 9 for a trendy new pair of rounded, short skis made me SO much better!  The first two days I gained more  and more confidence as I realized I could TURN without losing balance and not make a fool of myself.  By the end of the first few runs I was  happy to venture of the groomed runs and even enjoyed some tree runs and moguls. 

 

Saturday night it started to snow and, being with a group of skiing enthusiasts, we had a contingency plan for he morning if there was any fresh snow the next morning.

 

I don’t pretend to be well versed in ski lingo but I would have been an idiot not to have known that fresh powder in Whistler is a good thing.  SO for some reason it was me who phoned the Snow-phone at 7am and started rejoicing in the fact that there were 17 cm of fresh powder awaiting us.  I raced around our condo leaping for joy in my long johns and then making the joyous wake up call to all of our friends that about the MASSIVE amount of fun that was awaiting us on the hill.

 

Riding up on the chairlift we were definitely the first few on the hills and the fluffy cloudlike descents that beckoned us looked heavenly.

 

That is, until I tried to ski it.

 

I think it was my second turn of the morning where I lost my balance.  And the third turn that sent me tumbling into a cloud of white smoke.  And by the 5^th turn my legs were burning so much that I began to wonder what the appeal was.  But being with powder enthusiasts I didn’t have much time to vent at the bottom - -I’d made everyone wait long enough.  As someone pointed out to me that morning, “There are no friends on powder days”

 

SO I kept my mouth shut and carried on.

 

But by the time I found myself hiking UP a hill just so we could get to more of this torturously difficult powder stuff I couldn’t contain myself anymore. 

 

“THIS SUCKS”

I announced as I barreled down the hill.  I think I just wanted to get the run over with.

 

I’m pretty sure people thought I said, “This Rocks!” as I heard some cheering behind me, just before I tumbled down into another ball of powdered whiteness.  This time I lost my ski.  And my new skis are white.  And the powder was deep.  17 cm deep as I remembered from my earlier excitement.

 

It took 6 people about 20 minutes to FIND my ski and then another 10 to get it on my foot while balancing precariously on 17 cm of pure hell on an incline I’d vowed never to ski on.

 

That was the last run of the day for me.  Even though I never mastered the art of powder, I did manage to learn two things in that morning : a) Powder is overrated and b)  There ARE such things as friends on powder days.  And thank goodness for that.