I'll try not to make you laugh, but how about a misery loves company story?
Right after I moved to Colorado, Mr. Wonderful begged me to learn how to ski. I had a very colored image of it, given that I went out with a guy back east who took me for the first time and dumped me at the top of a blue hill and said "see ya later"! Skiing held little appeal to me. But my brother came out for Christmas and begged me to go too.
They made me promise to take a lesson, and if I hated it, they wouldn't ever ask again. Needless to say, I loved it, got the hang of it pretty quickly, and then spent the next week hitting the slopes with my guys.
On New Year's Day, we hit Breckenridge, and Mr. W. set off to do a black run, so my brother and I headed up the hill together. I got my pole stuck in my ski bindings somehow, and then hit a patch of ice. Not only did I have a yard sale, I took the pole to my chest on my way down.
My brother quickly made it down the mountain and was pretty concerned... saying, "Bets, I have been skiing my entire life and I've NEVER seen someone do what you did, and do it so badly." I couldn't breathe properly for a month... and my whole chest region was bruised a lot longer than that.
I feel for ya. Here's to taking it easy.
Hugs,
Betsey
"There are only 2 ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
