I Don’t Ski, I Schlep

Pearl of the Post: Carry the Love

Being a Northeastern born and raised chick, I can count on one hand plus a finger how many times I’ve been skiing. It just wasn't my family's thing, it was a Cohen family thing.;)

It's not for want of trying, I’ve tried. I’ve taken lessons, done the bunny slopes, geared up on the latest in ski fashion and even went so far as take private lessons in the adults only part of Deer Valley, Utah.

Me and the mountain. Love mountains, hate skiing. Love ski villages, hate skiing.

Every single ski outing, I’ve wiped out (usually on the bunny slope) or taken a spill head first into a rock. I’m not one to let fear rule the day but I’ve also come to trust the signs and at my ripe age of 44, not to tempt fate. On any given Sunday, I’m clumsy, adding snow and ice and skis and speed and no feel for the sport, um, I’d rather keep my feet firmly on the ground or up the wall during Shavasana.

It’s just not my thing.

I appreciate the beauty, bless the mountain and love the crisp mountain air and the sunshine beams onto the snow scape.

I just never got my ski legs.

You may think it’s all the bundling and being cold. True, not a fan of being cold and loathe the moment I have to dig out my winter coat and accoutrements. But, I do appreciate the beauty and majesty of a snowy mountain.

That’s why I’m in the coffee house on my laptop. Lol

Mother Mountain and her curves are just snow pretty.

My fear is mine and not for my kids to take on.

I’d be doing them a great disservice if we didn’t get them up on skis. My kids are Northeastern born and bred kids and should be shredding the slopes, building self reliance, confidence and competence.

When their friends ask them to go for a ski weekend their answer should be “yay, let’s go” in contrast to my “um, no, I don't ski, enjoy.”

My hubby has ski legs and it’s one of few sports he enjoys. Great, you’re hired. Happy to delegate this bit to him. Skiing can be their thing they do with dad. Fine by me.

So, I schlep.

So much stuff. We went for one night, one ski day and we have 3 full bags. This is the moment I chuckle at the thought of once wanting 3 kids cuz that would mean 5 bags minimum.

I'm happy to do all the packing, layering and re-layering. Layering is an art form that my father passed onto me.

Oy, my dad and his pearls about layers.

Mr. It’s not cold, it’s how you dress.

Mr. Smart Wool socks and thermal pants.

Mr. Just in case, bring it all.

Mr. I told you so when you didn’t layer up and complained of being cold.

And now, he snow birds in Florida and I’ve become my dad.

I give the mom in a Christmas story a run for her money.

I was trained by Mr. Layer Up back in the day so my approach is old school. I’m sure there’s been major advances in the world of less is more high tech ski clothes but I’m an old school long johns chick.

Go, pee and let’s begin.

We start with your face. An aspect my father neglected and I’ve perfected.

Wash, toner spray, moisturize, primer, sunscreen, Aquafor all over the face, squirt of Flonase so you don’t snot yourself. Speaking of snot, stick a tissue packet in your pocket.

My son was cracking up a storm this morning as I then instructed him layer by layer by layer by just one more layer for good measure.

5 layers of Hot Chillis ought to do it. Oh wait, add a layer of lined sweat pants and sweat shirt, hand and foot warmers between your sock layers with the top naturally being Smart Wool.

Hate me now, thank me later when you can feel your legs and all 10 fingers and toes.