OK, I'll admit it. I'm a fair weather skier. Here in very high up, bloody freezing Colorado, that often translates to "I'm not going out in that". First day, it was snowing so I didn't really enjoy my 90 minutes on the slopes. Yes, I know it's supposed to snow at a ski resort, but hurtling down a mountain (which I tend to do whether I mean to or not) with the stuff slashing at your face is not my idea of fun. I remembered to wear my gator (neck warmer), but hadn't bothered to buy the latest version - the gator plus face mask with little holes in the mouth area. I'm not a professional skier, why would I need one of those? Well, as the Ball & Chain and the Queenager kept helpfully demonstrating, their goggles weren't fogging up, their mouth areas were nice and dry - and mine well, weren't. Skiing in a white out is one thing, but fogged-up goggles, (which also seemed to be letting the wind and snow in) is quite another problem.
And then there are all the bodily malfunctions, which are making my days on the slopees feature less and less on my horizons. Chondro-malatia (or however the hell you spell it) in the right knee from too many years at the ballet barre. (Roughly translated, that's clicky knee which doesn't always allow me to recover from anything but a slight bend.) Hence, steep hills with moguls (bumps) are pretty much out for me as I have to ski down the whole thing on my left leg - which my left thigh muscle really doesn't like.
Oh yes, and the hereditary large toe joints, which in my case, were made much worse from too many years stuffed into plaster of paris filled pointe shoes. I had made some peace with the fact that I have the world's ugliest feet, and had decided against any surgery as the recovery programme isn't really fesible with three kids and no staff. I mean, a whole week off your feet followed by about 7 weeks in plaster? Besides, there was no pain, only ugliness. Unfortunately, this winter my right foot has really been playing up, forcing me to make preliminary inquiries about the surgery. And yesterday, I found out that ski boots (hard, inflexible straight jackets for the feet) aren't a bunion's best friend. In fact, to lapse into Geordie for a second, "they knack".
I know there were several other complaints during my brief stints out, and the others politely ignored me and "met me at the bottom". Strangely this morning, the Ball & Chain and older kids made a pretty quick exit to the slopes, hardly asking me if I would like to go out with them. Could it be because I spend the whole time bitching and whining about the elements and my failing body? I'd rather like to believe they were giving me some "down time" but I suspect ulterior motives.
Anyway, it's practically a white out again, and I'm not skiing in THAT! There is a fab outlet mall about 10 miles down the road, which just happenes to be right where the supermarket is. I do believe we are out of milk and orange juice!