pride vs ability

Is it still called "skiing" when the mountain snow is covered by a sheath of ice? Nevertheless, I can't let this one get by, even though it's a sticky, sweaty, exhausting almost-summer day in Beijing.

Skiing is becoming an increasingly popular sport for the Chinese. In and around Beijing, there are a handful of (read: five, maybe) ski "resorts" for snow-sport lovers. Z and I don't necessarily fit into the "snow-sport lover" category, but when you've been offered an all-expensive paid trip to Beijing's Wanlong Ski Resort, there's little reason to say, "no thanks" to it. Way back in February my name was drawn as the grand prize winner of Travel-Stone's  weekend getaway. So, before all the snow melted, Z and I embarked on our first skiing lessons together to Heibei province, four hours from Beijing, in the middle of March. The prize included the hotel, transportation to and from, ski rentals and lift tickets. And to think, I was just minding my own business picking out red wine in the supermarket, when I was asked to drop my name in the hat. Thanks, Travel-Stone!

Do you ski? Do you have any idea what it's like to learn how to ski in another language? It's not that your body acts differently altogether, but it's that it takes a bit longer for your brain to process what your body is supposed to be doing.  It goes something like this:

A - "Damn! Why didn't I look up the word for ski in the dictionary before we left!?"
Instructor - talks for a good three minutes, gesturing his arms this way, while his legs move that way.
Z - "Yeah, he's just saying to follow him. Look at what he's doing."
A - "Well, I got as much. I know he's saying the words body, left, right, and something about slowing down."

After a two hour lesson, which we desperately needed, Z and I were told we were ready to graduate from the bunny slopes - the easy-breezy, fun-loving, perfectly acceptable, there's no shame in staying on the bunny slopes if you ask me - to the blue square trails, or "intermediate" trails.

Since I am being totally honest with you here, I'll tell you how this all went down.

Z and I boarded the ski lift, and for five pleasant moments we traveled up, up, up. The sun was shining, and from our point of view the snow looked fluffy, even welcoming. Just as we were about to get off the lift, Z shared a little story with me about how his parents went skiing once and fell off the ski lift together. Ha. Ha. That's all it took to psyche me out, and within seconds, there I was flat out on my butt, while Z watched from the standing position a few feet away. While I was laughing at myself, I was simultaneously being dragged away (literally, dragged) by the lift operated. I'm certain he was swearing at me, and found no humor in my stumble as the next skier approached us at ferocious ski-lift speed.

Now, I understand that the whole point to learning how to ski involves falling down and getting back up.

Fall down. Get back up. Falling down is easy. Getting back up while you search for your sunglasses and your left ski is not so easy. 

We reached the top of the blue square trail, and off I went, at an unnerving speed. I had it! Total control of my body until, seconds later, I realized how fast I was moving, and then I lost all sense of my own body's movements. As I whizzed passed Z, he later told me "She's got it! She's really good at this. Wow!" And then, out of his sight, and finding no other way to stop myself, I threw myself to the icy patch of mountainside, feeling totally out of control of my limbs and senses. As I tried to lift my bruised body off the ground, searching for my recently snapped-off skis, I wondered what was taking so long for the ski instructor and Z to come rescue me! Then I realized Z had taken his own tumble, at the same unpredictable ice-induced speed. 

The rest of the mountain seemed impossible to me. Tumble after tumble, I slowly made my way back down to the security and innocence of the bunny slope - mere memories at that point.

How do you say "I'll just go down the hill on my butt!"?

After what seemed like a missed opportunity to snuggle up inside the ski lodge with a cup of hot cocoa, I eventually made my way down to a safer, less-inclined position. Z went back up the Mountain of Fear and Shame to prove something to himself that I was all to comfortable accepting: skiing is not my cup of tea. The mountains, the green blue skies, the nature outside of Beijing, and the hotel's heated floors and over-king-sized bed  - yes, that is for me. But skiing, it was nice to meet you.

oh, the safety and security of the bunny slope