Ain’t no mountain high enough

I wish everything came to us naturally, like walking, which I learnt with a little bit of help from my mother. I went skiing at a resort in Lake Tahoe for the first time ever, hoping to be able to glide on snow with my poles flailing in the air, like how I had seen the experts do it on TV. I went with a big group who felt that waking up early in the morning was more arduous an effort than learning to ski. The former was done easily, much to the surprise of most of us. As they say, well begun is half done. I was in the capital city of the state of California, Sacramento, for the first time too. We packed ourselves in snow clothes and boots which needed a lot of getting used to and were all set with our skis and ski poles. One step on the snow and I realized that I had signed up for some serious amusement for those two days. We started off with a beginners’ class which lasted about two hours by the end of which I was exhausted and ready to eat any kind of food I would see. All my confidence was shattered after lunch though, thanks to the innumerable falls while trying to conquer an “S” shaped ski trail. As I lay in the snow every few minutes trying to figure out how best to get up without sliding off again, I recognized the disadvantage of being in such a group with so many people. Most of them passed by me without offering a helping hand, probably because they wanted to save me the embarrassment. Moreover, the innate feminist in me could not help but accept the fact that the guys had it so much easier than the girls. They just have a natural flair for all things sports, or so I believed. After we were done skiing for the day, I watched my friends play in the snow, staying away as it was physically impossible for me to join.

I stayed up for most part of the night during which my activities ranged from playing snakes and ladders to watching people perform choreographed dance sequences to loud music accompanied with party lights which helped me forget how sleep deprived I was. The sight outside the house we stayed in justified what I had read at the restaurant we had dinner at, the previous evening. It said, “If you are lucky enough to stay at Lake Tahoe, you are lucky enough.” Wish I could be as thankful about everything, everyday. I and the rest of us were all enthusiastic to take on the second day, which we began with the intermediate class. I was brimming with excitement as I had managed to complete the dreaded “S” trail without falling a single time just before the class, with some tips from a friend who had been skiing before.

Our instructor for the day, Jim won all our hearts within the first few minutes. He said something that amounted to how learning to do something the right way changes our lives, or whatever we are doing at that time. He definitely changed my life, or how I ski, at the least! Not onIy was he funny, but firmly stamped the right technique on our minds. Thanks to him, I had become adept at getting up without leaving a trace of my fall, if it happened at all. That is something I do otherwise too, I suppose – hide all signs of failure, if there are any. I had surely ‘fallen’ for him, head over heels in love by the end of the two hours.

I could not wait to be back as we headed for lunch after a few more trips on the same slope. Though I initially thought we were being too ambitious trying a different slope which was steeper than the one we had been on earlier, I enjoyed it as I no more tumbled as often and felt like I was flying. I admire the courage of some of my friends who ventured on to the steepest slope available for beginners and made it, albeit with a couple of bad falls. We all went back home feeling accomplished, ready to take on any mountain that life has in our way.