Me Vs. Green

My body is in conflict between the feelings of aching and elation. I have finished my first day of skiing ever and my brain is on the last leg of an adrenaline high while soreness is slowly spreading through my legs. My cheeks feel flushed with heat while my fingers are frigid in comparison. Overall, it was a great day, and here are the numbers. I fell 4 times, went down the bunny slopes 10 times, ate 1 teriyaki chicken sandwich for lunch and 42 french fries. I swore 26 times, tore 1 hole in my hat once, and had 3 shots of Jägermeister. I punched my ski instructor twice, got a bloody nose in return once, broke 3 bones on the half-pipe, had 1 airlift, and a monster medical bill.

Seriously though, I only had 27 french fries.

By far the biggest take-away for the day is green slopes are much more difficult than the bunny slopes. That might sound obvious for veteran skiers, but for me, my rationale of attempting such a feat was “how much harder can it be?”

Let us explain how much harder it can be. At the first ski lesson, the first skill taught is how to stop. This makes sense, because if one ever loses control, one can stop and restart from the beginning. So we spent quite a bit of time learning the wedge technique of starting and stopping and how to turn by bending the opposite knee. After several practice runs, I thought I was ready.

Thus began Mistake #1. What I didn’t know was that on a steeper slope, the wedge on its own is not enough to counteract your downward momentum. After finding out the hard way, I start to frantically turn and found out that I was not turning but merely sliding sideways down the mountain. Eventually, my skis caught the ice and I jetted towards the trees on the side of the trail. Then I learned that self-preservation was the best ski instructor. As I was approaching the trees at full speed, I dug my outside ski into the ice and made the sharpest turn ever and avoided a Wile E. Coyote-style collision. By the time I reached the lodge, I was exhausted and took a much needed break, for both physical and mental reasons.

Returning to the bunny slopes, I ran into a few of my fellow classmates from the lessons in the morning. One of them felt adventurous and debated attempting a green slope. I felt rested and wanted to take a second shot. Thus began Mistake #2. We took a different trail, thinking that it was flatter. It wasn’t. I took the lead and a short time from the lifts, we approached a hill far steeper than on my previous run. Knowing that the wedge method would not work, I stopped in order to see if there was an alternate descent. My friend, however, whizzed right by before I could say anything. I stood and watched in suspense as she accelerated down the slope towards an intersection with another trail. Suddenly, there was a plume of white and when everything settled, one ski was several feet to the left, the other to the right, and she was lying face down in the middle. Calling upon all of my courage, I took my skis off and walked down the slope. Rather, I slipped and fell the entire way and landed awkwardly on my butt. To add insult to injury, when I stood up, there was a 5-year old girl in a light-purple parka gracefully meandering down the hill like it was second-nature.

Thus, the green slopes won twice in one day. After such an experience, there are only three things one can possibly do. The first is to laugh about it for it makes such a good story. The second is to write about it so that you, dear reader, can share in the mirth. And the third is to drink and forget all about it.

The Emptyness of Defeat

An audible groan fell upon Boston and most of New England tonight. Eli Manning threw the winning touchdown with 35 seconds left to spare for the New York Giants’ win in Super Bowl XLII over the New England Patriots. This was not just any Super Bowl victory. With their win, the Giants stopped a juggernaut in reaching a perfect 19-0 season. They prevented a 4th title in 7 years. They destroyed the dreams of a football dynasty from the dynamic partnership of Coach Bill Belichick and quarterback Tom Brady. Even Vegas betted against them by 12 points. No, this game was a major upset.

I said goodbye to my hosts for the night and headed home. Out on the streets, small groups of people briskly passed each other as they walked home from the football parties, the bars and pubs, and the presumptuous celebrations. Their breaths would condense around their noses and mouths to give a gray aura of dejection. All had stunned looks on their faces as they stared distantly down the streets, and they barely noticed the cars whizzing by not more than two feet away. Indeed, as a driver, it was difficult to concentrate on the road.

Oh Nike, great goddess of victory, why do you taunt us so? Why do you bait our hopes for the history books? You appear to us as an oasis in the desert, as a shiny object in a haystack, as Penelope waiting for Odysseus to return. Yet you are nothing more than a harsh mirage, a rusty nail, or a speck of dust on the horizon. Yes, it is great to cheer for the underdogs, but sometimes, you just want the establishment to win.

Tomorrow is another day. In a week, all that will be talked about is the primary election that will happen on Tuesday. Obama or Clinton? Romney or McCain? Life will be back to normal. There will be other years to live for, other Super Bowls to root for, and many more trophies to vie for. What really matters in the end is that the Red Sox are the defending champions and the Yankees still suck.