It’s the time of year when Americans gather together around the television to watch all the big games.   I am so psyched!   I can hardly wait to watch the United States National Figure Skating Competition!   What?    You thought I was talking about the playoff games?   Not this girl!   I have no interest in watching a bunch of grown men run up and down a field chasing a football.  Even though I know my brother will be glued to the television if Tim Tebow and the Denver Broncos make it to the playoffs, I am much more interested in who will be representing the United States at the Figure Skating World Championships.    

           I think figure skating is a fantastic sport.   It is the perfect blend of music, dance, athleticism and artistry.  I admire the skater’s abilities.   It must be so exciting to experience the speed and freedom of flying through the air or across the ice.   I wish I could do it.   The problem is that I have neither athleticism nor grace.  I am, well, uncoordinated.  

            It is not uncommon for me to be walking along and suddenly be on the ground.    If this is a problem on solid ground, I can’t imagine what would happen on ice.    As for athleticism, that’s a joke!   This was proven on my one and only attempt at skiing.  

            To be honest, it was a long time ago.    I had watched skiing on television and got it in my head that I had to try it.   It seemed like an awesome experience to race down the hill.   So after lots of “I want to go skiing, I have to try skiing” my parents arranged a day of skiing as an early birthday present.     My Dad worked with a woman who won a day at the slopes for four.    She didn’t want it, so he bought it from her.    The package included ski school, equipment rental, and anything else a beginner needed for a day at the slopes.  

            Off we went!   I was so excited.   I imagined myself gracefully swooshing down the slopes.    Much to my surprise, before we could go “swoosh, swoosh” we had to go “clomp, clomp” in the ski boots that felt like cement.   They were so heavy, they hurt my ankles.  

            After the boots were on, they put our skis on, but they took away our poles.   I don’t know why they did that.   I liked the poles, they helped me stand up.   Maybe they took them so you didn’t stab yourself when you fell down.   We did a lot of falling down.  In fact, in ski school that’s what we did best.   At one point, we fell down so much that the ski instructor got on the ground to demonstrate how to get up.   It was really funny when someone came and asked my Mom if she was the instructor.  She was the only one standing.   I don’t think she let them take her poles. 

           When ski school was over, it was time to hit the slopes.   By this point, my Mom and my brother decided skiing wasn’t for them.   They decided to wait for Dad and I in the lodge.   I don’t know whether my Dad wanted to quit or not, but I was determined to try skiing.   It had to get better once you where on the hill. 

           Well, before you can go down the hill, you must go up the hill.   I’d seen ski lifts on television.   I knew that you rode on a chair to the top of the hill.   Apparently, my ski resort didn’t feel the slight incline they called the “beginner’s hill” was worthy of a chair lift.   They used a “j-bar” which was a bar shaped like the letter J.   You were supposed to hold on to the long bar and another bar went behind your knees to push you up the hill.   Well, I couldn’t do it.   They had to keep stopping the lift while I got back on.   Thank God it was a very slow weekday!   Eventually, my very annoyed ski instructor helped me get to the top.

            This brings me to another point.   I think it was wrong that my ski instructor was so annoyed.   He was a teacher and we’d never skied before, what did he expect?   Just because in his class of four people, 2 people dropped out and 1 couldn’t ride the ski lift, doesn’t give him any right to be so grumpy!

            Finally, we reached the top of the hill.   Did I mention we went on a day when there was no fresh powder?   The snow was glazed over and icy.   There were even a few bare spots where the snow had melted.   That proved to be a problem.   Never having skied before, I didn’t know how to avoid bare spots or stop before I hit them.    Of course, my annoyed ski instructor didn’t explain it.   When we got to the top of the hill, I went down first.   For a few moments things were going well.   I was actually standing upright and gliding down the hill.   Because it was icy, I was quickly picking up speed.   Then I saw a bare spot and I didn’t know how to avoid it.  THUD!  I was on the ground. 

            That’s when I decided that skiing wasn’t for me.   Falling down hurt and I was not riding that j-bar again.   I’m not sure who was happier that I quit, my Dad or my ski instructor.  Our adventure into skiing and winter sports was over, especially when the muscle soreness set in the next day.   My muscles kept screaming, “We haven’t done this before, and we aren’t doing it again!”  I can live without skiing.   In light of that experience, I feel it is better if I don’t try ice skating.  

           So I will just sit back and enjoy watching other people figure skate.   I will enjoy the skating competition and cheer and holler like a crazy football fan.      Now that’s my idea of the big game!