Last Saturday, when it was really freakin’ cold outside, we decided to go riding. And when I say “riding” it really means skiing/snowboarding…at least that’s what the kids called it back when I was still cool. Three years ago. You get old fast in an industry ruled mainly by teenagers., but back to my real story.
The very first night that Rick and I met, he claimed that he used to ride pro for Burton snowboards. After having been a ski-instructor for a fair amount of time, I also knew that most people who claimed to be good in reality, couldn’t get down the bunny hill to save themselves. I scoffed at his self-proclaimed snowboarding grandeur, but his proof was going to have to wait until winter. Then came the news of Ava that frosty autumn. The proving was going to have to wait even longer.
I lent him my board, pants, hat, mittens too and even paid for his rental boots. I was ready to see what this aging “pro” had up his sleeve. I had teased him mercilessly up until we got off of the lift and strapped in. He flew down the hill and busted out a 180. Crap. Open mouth, insert foot. Later, he even put some of the young punks to shame in the half-pipe. I guess all of those pictures weren’t doctored after all.
All in all, it was a great day. My little sisters were out there ripping it up, and I didn’t do half bad at teaching my cousin her first turns. I only wish that I had had more of a chance to ski with my dad. I guess there’s always next time, maybe when the temperature has two digits. The day on my skis reminded me of a life I used to have, and how much fun it was. Now that the little munchkin is getting bigger I can’t wait to get her out there too, one day and make it a family affair. She’s destined for snow sport greatness. For now, it’s back to saving pennies for more lift passes.
This post was sponsored by the ever generous parents. THANK YOU!