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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
© 2004
Me? Cross Country Ski?

“I’ll take the CAT.” I smiled, skipping happily towards the large truck with tracks for wheels.

“You sure honey?” Cool-guy asked. “You don't want to cross country ski with us?”

“Not if I don’t have to.” I said, happily. “I thought I HAD to ski to get to the restaurant, that’s why I agreed to go. But. If there’s an alternate, well…”

“Ok.” He said, sadly. “But I’d hate to see you miss the experience of skiing to your dinner.”

I hesitated. Miss an experience? “Well, I’ve never, ever ridden in a CAT.”

“The trail isn’t bad.” He said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s not like our Valentine’s Day trip. That was a little difficult.”

“A little difficult? A LITTLE difficult?”

Cleo looked up from buckling her boots. “What happened?”

“For my first cross country ski experience he took me to the mountains.” I said, remembering. “Imagine steep hills for my first experience. So steep that no matter how loud I screamed, I couldn’t slow down when plummeting towards my death.”

Cleo pastened. “I’ve never cross country skied either. Maybe I should try the CAT with Holly.”

Joe stepped up to her. “Honey. It’s easier then regular skiing. You’ll be fine.”

She trusted him. Yeah. Well. I had trusted Cool-guy before my first cross country ski trip, too.

I opened the door to the CAT and prepared to climb in, happy to have an alternative.

“You’ll get there before us.” He said.

“I’ll have a drink at the bar.”

“You’re missing an experience.” He shrugged. “You’re not usually willing to miss something new.”

I turned towards him. “The trail isn’t bad?

“No. I promise.” He lied. “It’s an easy trail. Only about ten feet are bad, and you can take off your skis and walk that part.”

I stepped onto my skis and hooked them into place. I dug my poles into the snow and started sliding forward. I know. People keep telling me that cross country skiing isn’t hard because all you do is walk. Yeah. Well. I don't like walking around with long, thin pieces of wood on my feet. Cause. You know. You could fall.

The trail was slippery. The only way I could keep from sliding onto my butt was to dig my poles into the ground. I felt like I was playing a mundane board game where I was going to draw a card that said, “Return to start. Don’t collect two hundred dollars.” And I would slide all the way to the start, backwards and on little thin boards. Just to be sure that didn’t happen, I dug my poles in extra deep.

“This is harder than it looks.” Cleo panted, next to me.

“I know.”

We were skiing to the Pine Creek Cookhouse, outside Aspen, Colorado. It’s a restaurant where you have to cross country ski up to the front door. I know. It SOUNDS like a cool idea, if you know how to cross country ski. If you want to cross country ski. If you like to cross country ski.

We got to a small hill.

“I’m sliding backwards.” Cleo worried. “I can’t go up.”

“Use your poles like ice picks.” I said, from experience.

“My arms are getting tired.” She said. “Are you sure this is the way to do it?”

I sighed. “No. I’m not sure. Every time Cool-guy tries to teach me, he bursts into mad laughter.”

She laughed, tiredly.

“I think he only invites me along for the laughter release.” I sighed.

“Where are the men?” Cleo worried.

“Up ahead somewhere. They’re showing off, I think.”

It was getting dark.

“Hey.” She said. “Do you have a camera?”

I pulled out my small digital.

“I’d like to have a photo of my first and last cross country skiing experience.” She said.

I laughed. She posed in front of some big, white mountain. I posed. She held the camera out and took a photo of both of us. We laughed. The men came back looking for us.

“I thought something was wrong.” Cool-guy said.

“No.” Cleo laughed. “We’re just documenting our FINAL attempt at cross country sliding.”

We continued along the icy path, ever happy to have a destination that was only a mile and one half, total.

The final hill would be the most memorable.

“I can’t slow down.” I yelled.

Cool-guy skied up behind me.

“Help. Help me. I can’t slow down.” I yelled, louder as I picked up speed.

Cool-guy yelled out to me. “YOU SHOULD SEE HOW FUNNY YOU LOOK.” And burst out laughing.

“Help me slow down.” I commanded. “Help me slow down.”

“YOU LOOK SO FUNNY. BEND YOUR LEGS.”

I bent my legs and started going faster. I screamed louder. “NO. BENDING MY LEGS MAKES ME GO FASTER.

Cool-guy laughed louder and louder. “Ok. Lift one leg out of the track and do the snow plow like I taught you.”

“I CAN’T. I CAN’T. I CAN’T.”

He skied up behind me so he could get a better look. How could he ski while he was laughing so hard? “Just lift your foot out.”

“I’M AFRAID.” I was really picking up speed. “HOLD ON TO ME. SLOW ME DOWN.”

“Take your foot out!” He laughed from behind me.

I lifted my right foot up while going three thousand miles an hour and my whole body was propelled straight up into the atmosphere, as if there were an invisible elevator waiting to give me a ride. I could hear Cool-guy yell “HONEY!” in the background as I flew around up in the sky.

I landed with a nice splat on my head. I know. Not the ideal landing for an epileptic.

He skied up to me. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.”

“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He couldn’t stop laughing. “I wish I had the camera.”

I sat up and held the back of my head. No seizure. Not yet.

He laughed. “You should have seen yourself. I wish I had a video camera.” He threw his head back and laughed louder. “That was the FUNNIEST.”

No seizure. Headache. Nice head ache. Oh good. The seizures weren’t interested in being part of this night. I could handle a headache.

“Honey. Thanks for skiing with me.” He laughed. “That was a great fall. I promise. Next time I’ll teach you how to fall. All you have to do is SIT DOWN. You don’t have to fly around up in the air like that.”

Joe skied back to me. “That kind of looked like, ‘Holly in the Sky with Diamonds.”

The men laughed and high-fived each other.

“Actually, Holly.” Joe said. “Sorry you missed the ‘Great Fall of Joe.’ I had a perfect fall.”

To skiers, falling is part of the routine. To Cleo and me, it was the perfect excuse for extra lamenting over extra expensive glasses of wine, and the out we were looking for. We happily announced we’d be walking back on the CAT road.

“But, honey.” Cool-guy said. “The trail isn’t that bad at night.”

“Yeah.” Joe added. “And it’s mostly going up hill all the way.”

“And the moon is out.” My boyfriend insisted. “It’ll be romantic.”

“Really?” I said. “Well, just be sure the two of you don’t start kissing on the romantic ski trail. Cleo and I might get jealous while we walk on the CAT road.”

I looked at my boyfriend whose idea of a great time was tricking me into steep ski slopes and watching me fall. Oh. No problem there. And no bad feelings. I had a long, boring awards dinner to attend in a few weeks.

Guess who I’d be inviting?

Wanna try another column? How about #124 Ready to Eat which was about going to Cool-guy's house for dinner the very first time.

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Copyright © 2004 by Holly Winter
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