It's almost February, and many of you might already be planning on hitting the slopes to defy nature by skiing on her majestic snowy landscapes. Perhaps you're even considering Nightlife Virginia's Winter Invasion 2013 - good on you by the way, it looks to be a good time. Now I'm not about to get preachy here - trust me, God and I haven't been on a first name basis since middle school - but I do believe in signs. And my first and last time skiing were powerful signs from some kind of hellish God.
So lets step back, way back, and envision me, Tim, at 13. Awkwardly tall and fat - mop of unkempt red hair and listening to A LOT of Marilyn Manson. (He understood my suburban pain!) I'm in the throes of puberty and just waiting to be the butt of anyone's jokes. Also, I was in Boy Scouts.
The big annual ski trip for troop #7whateverthefuck was coming up, and I was all excited to go with the one friend I had to a mountain in the middle of fucking nowhere and ski for the first time. The 3 hour drive in the back of my troop leaders station wagon went by fast enough. I sat quietly, stern faced and mouthing lyrics to songs that would get my mouth washed with soap if I'd said them out loud. I was a bad ass.
We unload - about 20 of us scouts and leaders. We check in and begin to unpack into tiny dorm-style condos. The older troop members - who seemed endlessly cool - are already throwing things at me. No matter how bad the ribbing got, I yearned for their approval. I would never earn it.
We wake up early the next day and set out for our training class. I strap on this massive skis. I have hope in my eyes. Some combo of "pizza-french fry, pizza-french fry", is repeated. The other people in my training group grasp the concept instantly. I fall on my ass repeatedly.
Before long, i'm sitting on a ski lift, barreling toward the longest, but easiest slope on the mountain. I'm still excited because i've yet to experience any real heart-ache in my spoiled young life. "What could possibly go wrong?" I think to myself.
So much could.
We disembark and I immediately fall on my ass again. I repeat to myself "pizza-french fry, pizza-french fry." I fall again. Someone keeps pulling me up, telling me to shake it off and i'll get the hang of it soon. Foolishly, I believe them. We get to the top of the slope. The incline is subtle - its a 'bunny slope' after all, I guess that means a rabbit should be able to do this, so why the hell can't I?
I begin my descent. I'm moving fast. The trees whip by. Snow boarders whip by. Other skiers whip by. OK, maybe I'm not moving that fast. It seems like hours. "Pizza, french fry... Pizza, french fry," I mutter over and over again. It's almost exhilarating - Man, conquering nature, gliding gracefully over white powder. There is no natural weather circumstance that I cannot best!
And then I actually start to go fast. And i mean stupid fast. I'm 5'10, 13-years-old, goofy as fuck, and going way too fast on these skis. I panic. I turn. I turn the wrong way. Now i'm going up a hill. What? How am I going uphill? Something isn't right....
Now I'm falling again. I'm falling hard, fast, and with reckless abandon. I only see snow and metal poles, and the grey sky - each in fractions of seconds as I tumble ass-over-ankles. Something cracks - thats the ice, right? Nope. It's my arm. Now I'm screaming. I'm screaming for help. Rolling in the snow like a newborn wrapped in snow pants. I have one ski still connected, and I have no idea where the other one is.
Shit.
I crawl to my feet just in time to see the dad of my one friend gracefully come to a stop behind me. His mustache has icicles on it from the mist of the slopes. My face has icicles on it cause I'm crying like a 1-year-old. He's trying not to laugh, and I am trying not to shit my pants in pain. He helps me find my missing poles and ski. I'm clutching my arm and we walk the rest of the slope.
My dad is called. I end up in some mountain hospital. They are taking x-rays. I have broken my arm. I get a big cast and have my one friend sign it.
One year later: I still haven't advanced in rank in boy scouts. Troop #7whateverthefuck plans the next ski trip and I am one of the first to sign up.
We check in and end up in similar dorm-style condos. The older boys make fun of me - not just for being awkward anymore. Now i'm the awkward kid who fell on the bunny slope and broke his arm.
I go to another training class. "Pizza, french fry... Pizza, french fry." I'm on the lift. I'm falling off the lift instead of disembarking. I get to the top of the same slope I fell on one year ago. I push myself off and I go.
I don't fall. Against all reason and logic, I stay on those damn skis for the 1.5 mile slope and I make it to the bottom without a scratch. I smile big - I've conquered my fear of skiing. And I'll never fucking ski again.
So that is my story - why I'll never ski agian - but I've grown wise in my age. I don't ski, but I drink. So that's why I'm excited about this Nightlife Virginia trip. I love snow. I love drinking. I love getting out of Richmond every once in a while. I love making memories - even negative ones - and I love looking back and saying "Man, what an ass I was."
So even if you don't ski, consider coming out the last weekend in February. You'll find me at the bar, hot cocoa in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other, telling this story to anyone that will listen. I'll probably buy you a shot.
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Nightlife Virginia's Winter Invasion Weekend takes place at Massanutten from Friday, February 22 - Sunday, February 24.
Order tickets here:
http://www.eventbrite.com/event/4651416512/efblike
Use promo code RVAMAG and save!
For more info about the weekend, including itinerary and driving directions, check out the facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/WinterInvasionWeekendbyNightlifeVirginia