On Friday I went snowboarding for the first - and possibly last - time. By the end of the day I could snowboard down the run (which means get to the bottom without falling, regardless of pace). But the LIFT! That thing was hell. The type with just a crossbar that you hang on to, and that you try to continue holding on to after you fall and it drags you, your nose grooving tracks in the snow, until your armpits give out. You do your best to roll out of the way before the skier behind you puts a pole in your back. Then you have to trek up the mountain on foot, and by the time you reach the top, the last thing you want to do is try it again. At least that was my experience every time up the Mountain. The only time I didn't fall on the lift was when an instructor was basically hugging me. More comforting than the snow anyway.
No actually in retrospect I think it was fun. My body still hurts, but it's supposed to right? That's the sign of a good time. It snowed four days in the mountains last week, so the snow was perfect. (Not that that matters to me. That's like telling me "This is a really nice fruity wine, goes well with pork." That means nothing.)
Anyway, here's to a day of insufferable enjoyment.
People who Vivi met on the slopes. They can actually ski and look like it too, so I figured I'd add the photo for authenticity.
Me and Cristian. His pose: delight. Mine: contorted to accommodate full-body pain.
Cristian and Vivi. We're trying to teach him how to smile, but apparently it's hopeless.
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