Shame on the Slopes

By Mara Gerson

My heavy feet sunk deep into the ground and made a disgusting crunching noise with every step I took through the slosh. They tracked behind the bright red blur of my mother, who was leading me to the small crowd of strangers huddled together under a massive pine tree. I looked around skeptically at the taller, polished figures. Each set of eyes was fixed on the puffy neon pink marshmallow that had just joined the group. In that moment, I would have given anything for a different jacket.

“Marzie,” my mother suddenly hissed, snapping me out of my dazed embarrassment, “I’ve gotta run to go get your sister… you’ll be great don’t worry about it anymore please! I’ll pick you up at four thirty back here, ‘kay?”

I nodded as she shrugged me towards her and then turned to leave. The sound of her crunching slowly faded and I had a sudden urge to scurry right back behind her. I was about to embark on a daunting mission: the big kid ski lesson. Ever since I had first witnessed the groups of older children racing down the slopes in matching jerseys, I had become extremely intimidated. It wasn’t that I didn’t like to ski – practicing “pizza” stops and gliding up high on the gondola brought me immense joy. My ambivalence was simply a symptom of being a shy nine year old with no willingness to abandon the security of skiing with my parents or other kids my age. Although I was a pretty good skier for someone my age, I didn’t feel good enough to be in the group with the other kids. And there was also the slight issue that the Disney Princesses printed on the back of my parka sang out “dork!” so loudly that even the skiers on the top of the mountain could hear it and chuckled at me.

My parents, overwhelmed with details like getting together everyone’s ski gear and putting the chains on our car, had forgotten to reserve lesson spots for my sister and me in advance. Because it was Memorial Day weekend, there was no more room for me in the appropriate level. Still, my mother somehow convinced the instructors that I was so amazing that it really didn’t matter if I was in the more advanced class. I have always admired her persuasiveness, unless it landed me somewhere that I really didn’t want to be. But I just couldn’t say anything to my mom. There would have been no reason for her stress and hard work if I ended up acting like a baby.

As other kids joined the group, I studied each face for a potential friend. Yet each new girl looked big and intelligent enough to be at least a sixth grader. And my enduring belief that I was allergic to boys eliminated the rest of the potential candidates for a companion. Ed, the lanky, enthusiastic, Australian instructor, directed us to come together so that we could get a good look at our mates for the day. Then we all went around and said our names and favorite animals (the latter caused some eye rolling from the older girls) and I was told to E-NUN-CI-ATE so that the other side of the circle could hear about my love for flamingos.

“We are ready to dominate!” Ed cried out at the conclusion of his name game, pulling his skis out of the snow and dropping them before him with a thud. Everyone else followed suit; evidently, the ability to put on one’s own skis was a qualification for successful domination on the slopes. When finished, they all turned again to look at my pink puffy self as I repeatedly slammed my left foot down onto the ski buckle with all the force that my little stick legs could muster. The cold air bit at my skin like a rancorous snake, but my cheeks began to boil so quickly that I thought they would surely melt off my face.

“Sorry… I… don’t know how…” I began as I looked around some sort of rescue, “no one ever taught me… I just think my boots are too big for the buckles-”
“Don’t worry about it!” Ed cried out, “It’s all in the snap!” He glided over to me and clasped his large, gloved hand around my ankle. Suddenly, I was yanked downward so vigorously that my knee buckled. It was a snap, all right. He fastened me into the other ski in the same fashion, and I shifted my gaze back down to the snow around my newly elongated feet.

Ed then proceeded into the middle of the circle of students, where he grabbed up a large, red bag and slung it over his shoulder.

“Alrighty, I’m Saaaaaanta!” He chanted, “And I’ve got gifts for all of you lucky children.” Great, just what I needed – a reminder of my serious longing for a Christmas tree. Oh, the trials of being a Jew. Ed tossed out fluorescent yellow jerseys and we pulled them over our jackets. Having his kids dress s brightly must have made it easier for him to keep track of everyone.

He led us to the nearest chair lift in a single file line, like a Momma Goose leading her trail of ducklings. Luckily, we were going to start on Meadow, which had been rated as an easy slope. I felt confident enough that I could make it back down in one piece. I waited in the line next to a tall boy in a navy blue jumpsuit. He wore a glossy helmet that made me want to tear off the childish pom-poms from my knitted cap.

Mr. Sleek Helmet and I budged ourselves up to the mark in the snow where we would board the lift. I felt the familiar tension in my limbs and rapid beating in my heart as I saw the empty chair round the corner. I didn’t actually think that I would fall, but the nightmare of sliding down off the seat and into a pile of snow never failed to terrorize me. I gulped up a chunk of icy air and grabbed onto the sidebar as the seat scooped us up with a bump. As we glided upwards and through the trees, my muscles relaxed and I gazed down to stare at the tiny moving figures below.

“Where are you from?” a voice called from my side, breaking me out of my glazed state.

“Uuuh, Berkeley” I replied, muttering so softly that only my muffler could hear me.

“Oh, okay,” Mr. Sleek Helmet grinned, “I’m Douglas. Not Doug. Douglas. I’m a local – born and raised on Lake Tahoe. Live two miles away. Come up all the time. Hate these stupid long weekends. Always gets too crowded with people who don’t even know how to ski!”

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow and shook his head condescendingly. He had tucked his poles under his knees, which left his arms free and comfortable. I awkwardly attempted to mimic this, and after a couple minutes of accidentally stabbing myself in the leg, my poles were tucked securely under my body.

We sat in silence as we continued to ride along. I stared to the left at the immense, gleaming lake surrounded by little trees, houses, and hills. The rhythmic swaying of the chair unwound my tense muscles and almost drifted me into a slumber. I forgot about Douglas, Ed, and the other kids. I forgot about the pompoms and princesses. All of my little fears crawled out of my head and jumped off the chair, head first down into the snow. They left me tranquilized in meditation, listening only to the soft whistle of the air whipping past my ears.

“Bar up,” Douglas exclaimed, and abruptly shoved the safety bar upward. “We’re getting off now, um, I think you should wake up.”

“Me? I’m not sleeping,” I said as I slapped my face to liven myself up again. “But wait I’m also not ready yet oh no oooh no wait – my poles!” The long sticks were still under my leg. I frantically tried to wrap my arm under my leg and pull them out, but in my clumsiness one went shooting sideways, hit Douglas in the leg, and toppled down into the snow.

“OW! That hurt!” He yelled at me with a scowl. I turned back to watch my poor pole roll down the hill and away into God knows where. “Idiot,” I heard Douglas mumble behind me. I looked around and saw his disgusted, high-eyebrowed face staring ahead to where we got off the lift. Then he swooped away and off of the chair in a blur.

I tried to do the same, but the remaining pole was still underneath me, so I couldn’t get off without losing it and probably falling myself.

“Wait what are you doing?” I called after Douglas, “You can’t just… I don’t know how…” I was astonished. My mouth dropped open as I watched him slide down the corner without looking back. Before I knew it, I had fully turned the corner, still in the chair gawking after the evil tyrant who had been indifferent to my naivété. The hill quickly dropped again right after the place of departure, and there was no way that I could hop off. My tongue went dry as I saw the steep hill beneath me.

I knew that it would be wise to call for help, but I was too embarrassed. If they hadn’t noticed me already, maybe I could discretely just ride back down the hill and get off where I had entered. Then I wouldn’t have to stay in this stupid lesson anyway. So I just reached upwards to pull down the safety bar, and waited. And waited. Time seemed to move as slowly as it does in the five minutes before the last school bell of the day rings. Yet it must have only been thirty seconds before I heard a familiar Australian accent calling,

“AYE! Stop the lift! Stop the lift now – I’ve got a kid going the other way!” The lift stopped immediately and my stomach lurched as my chest hit the hard metal safety bar in front of me.

Ed, who had already gotten off his chair before it stopped moving, came down and started yelling at me from below. I tried to tune out his voice and ignore every other head that was turned on me from the ground and the other chairs. Evidently, I had become either the day’s major source of entertainment or nuisance.

“Don’t worry, mate. There’s some blokes who’re about to come getcha down in a jiffy,” he laughed. He had come to my rescue, or at least by his own standards. Now I only resented him more for blowing my cover. Not only did my lack of decent clothing or social skills suggest my inferiority, but now it seemed that I had the lack of brains or skiing experience to prove it.

As Ed had promised, two men from ski patrol came over and to lift me off the chair. The largest one scooped his strong hands under my armpits and lowered me back down to the mountain. Luckily, the other man had retrieved my pole, and he handed it back to me. We went over to the rest of the group, and proceeded with the lesson. First, we skied behind Ed, making giant S shaped tracks back and forth across the snow. Then, to my horror, Ed instructed us to go down one at a time so that he could assess each of our skiing levels individually. When it was my turn, I was so nervous that my legs felt like wobbly jello. I plowed straight down the hill without making any turns in order to finish as quickly as possible. Somehow, I managed to make it down to Ed without falling. Once everyone was down, he spent a good five minutes emphasizing the value of having control, rather than speed.

The lesson continued, and went on progressively more and more difficult slopes. As much as I wanted to blow Ed off, I figured that trying to do what he said would be the best way to spare myself any further embarrassment. Maybe if I did something right I could make up for my initial mistakes. Every time we got off a new lift, I thought that this hill would be my clean slate. This would be where I would finally show them that I did belong in this lesson. Yet I continued to be the clumsiest and slowest member of the group. Every set of corrections that Ed gave seemed to apply to me.

Finally, it was four o’clock, and there was just enough time for one more run. I was worn out, but determined that this would have to be my grand finale. It was my final chance to prove myself. When we got halfway down the mountain, there was a split in the hill that divided the remainder of the run into two sections. To the right was a flat, normal slope, but to the left the snow was shaped into large bumps that ran all the way down to the bottom. I had gone on something similar before with my friend Maddie, but I remembered that those bumps were considerably smaller than the ones that lay in front of us. Ed suggested that we all ride down them together, but a couple whiners said that they were too tired and just wanted to get to the bottom and meet their parents. To compromise, Ed suggested that those who wanted to go down the bumps could, and he would go back with the rest of the kids.

“I’ll see you lot at the bottom,” Ed called after the kids approaching the hills. “But remember guys,” he warned, “NO falling!”

I didn’t know what to do. I had secretly wished that he would have made us all go down the flat part, and then the rest of the lesson would just be a cakewalk. But I could hear the mini mountains whispering, Come on, you can do it. What? You’re too scared. I guess you are just a little kid after all. Guess you’re not cool enough to ride us.

That was it. I would do it. I could do it. No problem – it was really just a few bumps. I pushed myself confidently up to the top of the first hill right behind Douglass. I watched Ed and his posse glide away, and now I had left myself with no choice. One by one, kids whizzed past me like rockets straight into the air. I was the last one left, and before I could second-guess myself, I pushed my poles down into the snow and sent myself shooting off after my peers.

The air whipped at my face and buzzed in my ears. My body felt weightless as I felt my legs disengage from the ground. Bliss washed over me as I soared over the top of one snow mound, and then another. I let go of all of my tension and just let myself fly, faster and faster, as my heart quickened and my head swelled up with pride. Then suddenly, a vibrating thud at my chest numbed all my senses and I felt a burning cold rushing down my back and onto my scalp. Somehow I had tumbled head-first into the snow, and I slid all the way to the side of the slope and into the trees.

I lay motionless and confused as my eyes rapidly blinked to take in my new surroundings. My eyes could barely make out a blur of branches above my head. I remained still for minutes, uncomfortable and scared. I dreaded getting up, yet I knew I had to do something or else this would surely be the way in which I’d die. As I tried to push myself upright, an invisible hand pushed down in front of my lungs and made my chest ache in immense pain. Once I was eventually on my feet, I shook out the bitter cold snow chunks that had flown down under my shirt. I looked up and saw my other ski lying upside-down in the middle of two large humps. It too was covered in snow, alone and waiting for help. Within the thrill of flying down the bumps, I must have lost control and crossed my skis or hit a branch. I stood still above the spot where I had landed, staring at my abandoned ski, and my eyes welled up with tears. So much for no falling.

I didn’t want to move – I didn’t know how on earth I could get myself out of this fix. But I looked up the hill to watch for any skiers zooming down, and when I saw that the coast was clear I crossed over to my ski. Just like before, I tried and tried to put it back on. Figures repeatedly zoomed past me, and I glanced up at every one to see if someone noticed me and could come and help. But no luck; I would have to save myself this time. I flipped over my ski and brushed the snow off its clasp and the bottom of my boot. Finally, a loud snap rang through air and my mouth moved upward into a grin. I edged myself sideways up to the top of the little hill in what ski school had taught me was “peanut butter and jelly” style. I guess whoever invented these terms must have really liked food.

Once I reached the top, I took in a deep gulp of air and started again down the next hill. This time I glided down cautiously, moving slower and with very little air at the top of every bump. But I made it all the way down, and this time I felt more confident than the first time. Even though I had fallen, being able to rise back up on my own was the most gratifying experience I’d had the entire day.

As I made my way back to the meeting spot, I saw two arms outstretched in a familiar red parka. I glided right past the gawking Ed and the jerseyed kids right and smashed into my mother.

“Woah, there,” she laughed, “Good lesson?”

“Mommy, you have no idea…” I murmured.

“Woah mate, what happened to you?” Ed asked. I couldn’t tell if his concern was genuine, or if he found my delay was as humorous as the other kids seemed to think it was.

“Well, I got caught on a branch or something –”

“Oooh, I said no falling,” Ed said, shaking a finger.

“Why would you tell her not to fall? She’s a nine year old,” my mom gasped in astonishment.

“No Mommy, it’s okay,” I insisted, “I got up all by myself.” And with that, I threw off my jersey, inched my skis around, turned my pom-pomed head up to the sky, and glided away for some hot chocolate at the lodge.