February 28th, 2005
Embarrassment
Inspired by a post I just read over at dooce.com I figured I would share with you my “most em brassing moment.”
To be honest I don’t really know how old I was when this happened – or even what Ski Resort it took place at – I tell the story as if I were about 8 and that we were at Snow Basin in Ogden Utah. It is just as likely that I was 11 and we were at Gore Mountain in NY. In reality, my age and location really don’t matter – so don’t get too hung up on it.
Our trip to the mountain began just about like any other trip. We rented our skis, probably from Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) on the Air Force base and then drove for a while to the slopes. My old brother, Ed, and I typically went off in our own direction and my Dad would do his thing which resulted in my Mom slowing skiing from side to side down the bunny slope for the rest of the day. By the time this trip came around Ed and I were both pretty comfortable skiers and we regularly went down pretty much every run except those with excessive moguls.
At some point during the day I became separated from Ed and while traveling down a fairly fast, but smooth, trail I spied a small (one person wide) opening in some trees to the left that appeared to be a connector to another trail. I followed it. Well, I followed it for about ten feet before I found myself momentarily airborne and then face down in a bank of powder. I had fallen about 10-15 feet below the connector’s level. Fortunately I landed in that powder and everything but my ego was unharmed. I was pissed. I stood up, unstrapped my skis and stood them tips up, in the snow so that I could clean myself off.
My rental skis, heck most skis, back then didn’t have the little breaks built into the bindings that help keep the sky from sliding down the hill when you pop out of the bindings. Instead they had straps on them that you wrapped around each shin. Then, when the ski popped off it couldn’t go anywhere because it was tethered to you. In general that worked out fine unless you were buried in powder and wanted to clean yourself off. Then you had to unstrap, stand them up, and get to work.
So that is what I did and while I was busy taking off my coat to try and remove a pound of powder from out of the back of my shirt, my left ski fell. Not having binding brakes, it slid, quickly, down the mountain. Without really thinking, I grabbed my other ski and started to run down the mountain after my ski. Have you ever tried to run in ski boots? Walking in them is a practiced skill – and running is nearly impossible. Running down a mountain is just foolish. But that is what I did, well, for about five steps. Then I fell, rolled, tumbled, rolled, dropped my other ski, slid, popped up, picked up my ski, fell, rolled, etc. down the side of a very tall mountain. Eventually I made it to the bottom. My get-a-way ski was nowhere to be found.
Now, normally, an incident like this probably wouldn’t be too embarrassing. Oh, sure explaining to my parents my lost ski wasn’t easy. And I had to deal with the inevitable ribbing from my brother. But if nobody had really seen me falling down the “non-trail” I would have been fine. That was not my luck though. No, I was directly beneath the chair lift that was carrying hundreds of other skiers back to the top of the mountain. My personal avalanche was on display for the enjoyment of all, and, judging by the laughter that cascaded down on me as I tumbled, it gave plenty of enjoyment.
My parents, and Ed, stopped skiing for a while to help me search my wayward equipment. I am pretty sure my Mom found it. I don’t remember getting punished for the loss of the ski. Possibly because during the two hours of hunting the comments from amused passers-by helped alleviate the hole I had dug for myself. I don’t think I had the opportunity to ski again that day. Maybe that was for the best.
So, now you know my most embarrassing moment. Feel free to share yours!