Travel Diaries #5: Skiing, Take Four

The first time I went skiing was with my dad in the fifth grade. To say "with" him might not be entirely true. It was his idea to cure my cold, so we drove out to Snoqualamie Pass and he signed me up in a ski lesson, as teaching me was not something he was gifted at. The lesson was fine, though it made me nervous to be with other beginners significantly younger and better at skiing than myself. I learned about the pizza wedge and french fry positions and I made it down the mountain without any tears.

The second time was the following year with my mom. She was very patient and rode the green lift with me the whole day. All was well until the fluffy flakes turned into sharp pellets of icy rain. Soon, the joyous day of skiing became an afternoon of an icy cold face and tired limbs. That was the beginning of my dislike of skiing and I wouldn't go again until my junior year of high school.

That Christmas of 2006, the Dahlstroms decided that a trip to the cabin accompanied by skiing at Mt. Baker would be a fantastic way to spend the holidays. The cabin I was all for, but the skiing I was ambivalent towards. I was fitted for my boots and skiis and I got on the lift. It was unpleasant and I was fearful of breaking something. My life, starting in January, would consist of dancing in "Oklahoma!" and playing viola in the orchestra. To break or sprain any of my limbs would be tragic and this fear overtook my enjoyment of the sport. Then a vicious snowboarder plowed me into a snowbank and, after tears and a headache, my skiing was finished.

Now, three days ago, when presented with the option of skiing or saving 25 euro, I had to think about it. Then I asked myself, "When will you ever have the option of skiing in the Alps ever again?" Not to mention, I didn't want to think of the judgement I would receive at home when I revealed such a poor decision to my friends. So, I cluelessly went with my sister to rent some gear for my fourth try at skiing. Noah was the perfect teacher, we ate soup in a hut on the mountain and I ended with a smile on my face.

Though my bum hurts an awful lot now from falling 800 times, it was worth it because I can now say with pride that I, Holly Dahsltrom, have been skiing in the Alps.