This Crazy, Beautiful Life: Ups and Downs in the Snow

I've never been much of one with balance and coordination. I did ballet as a child, but after about 3 years I gave it up for soccer. I was a decent full-back, especially after I stopped crying when I got hit with the ball. (Such a revelation the day I got hit, it hurt, but I chalked it up as a war wound. No crying after that! No fear!)

A little over a week ago we went to Montana to see my in-laws and ski at Bridger Bowl. Chris's brother moved to Missoula a while ago. He loves it there! He skis and mountain climbs and all sorts of outdoorsy stuff that I find fascinating and enchanting, but I'm not terribly interested in doing it myself. I'd rather sit in a beautiful library looking at perfectly old books. Still, nature is beautiful and old and new all at the same time, so I enjoy his love for it.

It started snowing our first day, which was warm in the upper 20s to low 30s compared the the next two days of anywhere from 10 to -7 or so where I was at the base. The farther up, the colder it got. Chris go beardcicles from breathing under his gear.

Chris and Stephen all bundled up

The moisture from breathing caused beardcicles! (Just breathing, no runny nose.)

This is after coming inside from a couple runs up and down the mountain

while I sipped hot chocolate and bonded with the parent-in-laws.

When we first arrived, I wondered what this white stuff was that was cold and sparkly and powdery. I felt like I'd seen it before a few years ago, but I wasn't sure. Was this snow? Was it real snow? Our area of Texas had a white Christmas with a few tiny flakes falling for 5 minutes, flakes that melted after it hit the car driving home from seeing Les Mis. These flakes in Montana did not melt. At all. They collected and built up quite a presence.

This was taken the second morning of our rental. All this was just overnight.

Before I mentioned that I went skiing once before when I was 13 and cried. Two things about that: 1) It was my goal this trip not to cry, and 2) a hill in IL covered in snow is not the same thing as a mountain in Montana. That youth group trip doesn't count anymore.

One of the lodges with a mountain in the background.

So, in the spirit of being candid, as I try to always be on this blog, I will tell you the main reason why I nearly cried during the Montana trip. The first was the worst and was what started the crying at 13.

Ski boots.

They are horrible, terrible, and cruel devices of torture. Especially for someone with relatively small feet compared to the size of her calves. I have wide legs for sure, which is a problem when most people don't and the boots are meant to fit all female size 8.5 shoe wearers. Even moving the clamps to the biggest size still cut off some circulation, and even to get to that point both Stephen (my brother-in-law) and Chris had to force down the clamps with quite a bit of strength.

The second morning, after wearing the extremely tight boots all day the day before, I asked my ski-wise brother-in-law an important question. "I know that bruises on the shins are normal, but should one have bruising all the way around the legs?" He looked at me with raised brows. "No."

Great. Back to the ski shop for new boots. Trying about four different pairs. The last went up a shoe size and felt much better. They were a bit looser in the foot than desired, but at least I could feel my legs despite the previous day's bruising.

I'm in the periwinkle coat and Chris is the dark coat behind me.

I enjoyed this bunny hill, but it was just too short.

So, I have very little balance as stated above. So I stuck to the bunny hill most of the time. Except twice. Once the second day I went on the next step up from the bunny hill and most of it ended up fine. Chris, who took to skiing quite well, helped lead me down the easiest path bit by bit. Stephen and my father-in-law stuck close as well. (Father-in-law was also new to skiing, got frustrated, but ended up being braver than I and did much more on the real runs than I even dreamed of doing myself.)

That hill is when I had my epic fall. Snow flung all around me, skis popped off, poles spread about, and me several feet farther down the hill than my gear. It was spectacular. As soon as I fell and the skis popped off, I knew I'd be fine. The hill was steep, but not terribly so. I went with it and enjoyed the ride. As soon as I stopped, I shouted that I was okay, especially since husband and in-laws were coming up behind me and I didn't want them to worry. No bruising from that or sprains or anything. I lifted my arms in triumph of my epicness, and someone on a nearby ski lift raised his and shouted, "Awesome!" It made my day.

Me and Stephen

What wasn't so fun, but rather epic itself, was the end of the first day. Stephen, bless his heart, had way more confidence in me than was warranted. He took us to a hill that was far too steep for me to keep control, my legs were exhausted from their first day of use, and I ended up falling several times at the beginning of the run. I walked down part of it, carrying skis and poles, sat down several times, walked some more, and finally gave up. Stephen skied to the bottom and got ski patrol. I had my first ride on a snowmobile! It was fun, and the guy was very nice about it. I could hardly get on the snowmobile because my legs were so tired, but Chris helped swing me up and I made it to the bottom. The ski patrol guy said it was the right decision with how tired and inexperienced I was. I was glad he didn't think I was dumb or something. I decided to stick mostly to the fun of the bunny hill after that.

So that was most of the interesting stuff for me.

Some might be wondering, "But didn't you go with your in-laws? Was your mother-in-law there? You haven't mentioned her."

First off, almost all of the photos are from her. Secondly, she had a grand time doing her thing, which I found pretty cool.

She needed adapted skiing because of a health issue she's been dealing with for years that makes walking extremely difficult. Often while on trips, I've seen her use her wheelchair. At home she uses a walker.

Getting gear out of the rental.

So, you'd think skiing would be impossible for her. Wrong! Bridger Bowl also has an adapted skiing group called Eagle Mount that helps people who need them to be able to ski.

They put her in a bi-ski, they controlled the speed and she controlled the direction.

The guys helping her get strapped into the bi-ski. The bottom of it

has two skis and the sides have "training skis" to help keep her upright.

She had guys with her the whole time making sure she could ski properly. She went down a blue run even (one step higher than I would've even attempted) and had a blast. Stephen spent some time with her taking photos and video.

She earned the nickname "daredevil mama" from a friend. It's pretty accurate.

The cool thing was that most of these guys, from my understanding, are volunteers! They volunteer to take people out to experience skiing when they wouldn't be able to otherwise. That's fantastic, and it surely lifts my hopes for humanity. She had a blast, even with one crash. Stephen says you're not a real skier until you've fallen.

So that's our ski trip. It was fun, and tiring, and exhausting, and exhilarating, and challenging, and exhausting.