Conventional wisdom says that if you fall off a horse, get right back on. Quickly, before the fear sets in, before you have time to think. Great advice, but when I got knocked out on the ski slopes a few weeks ago there was no question of getting back on my skis. The paramedics took them away from me, and the doctor (and Wally) threatened dire consequences if I didn't rest. A lot. So I rested, and I stewed.
I thought about not skiing until next year, but I didn't want to go through the whole summer wondering if I'd lost my nerve, wondering if I'd be too scared to ski. So last week we went skiing.
At first I was like a little old lady crossing a slippery street on a windy day. Cautious doesn't begin to cover it. But I'd rented some hot new skis, and if I wasn't paying attention and driving, I was flat on my rear. So I skied. And skied. And skied. And I came home with a shiny new pair of skis:
Volkl RTM in case you care. Rated best by everyone this year, including me.
Happy to have the trauma over, happy to have the mystery solved (as in will I ski again, not as in who did the hit and run) and happy to have had some time in the beautiful mountains.
And Wally is happy too.
So nice to ski together. Fast. Here's to many more years.
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