Less butt and more skill: Skidding down Fanningberg

Today, I went skiing, or what at one point could only be described only as highly concentrated yet completely uncontrolled horizontal sliding. But damn if I didn't try to keep a smile on my face.

I did survive the knockout punch to my ego, and even improved my technique, thanks to the patient and compassionate help of my friend Agata, a masterful skier (who did it without poles, which should not be forgotten).

At the start of my two-hour ski session, before I had even put on my skis, my stomach burbled with anxious excitement. I couldn't wait to test out my "snow legs," sample the drug du jour of the Lungau ski junkies (adrenaline), and soak in some sun and gorgeous mountain views. I repeated to myself what I'd been saying since the ski season opened--I haven't done this in over 10 years, but skiing is like riding a bicycle, right? And after all, I have fairly fabulous balance.

"Pride goeth before the fall" was never more literally applicable to my situation.

After about five minutes of skidding down the mountain, punctuated by wild moments of uncontrolled speed followed by family-heritage-shaming falls, it was clear to me that despite the masterful and careful tutelage of my two ski instructors, I just sucked.

Realization having dawned on me, and confronted with a "really quite narrow" portion of the slope 10 feet ahead and the concerned look on my protective tutors' faces, my self confidence collapsed like, well, like me about 2 minutes before: suddenly and passionately. There was no way but down, and no honorable way but on skis, and by god, I was going to make it happen. But how many others would I take with me on my rampage, or knock over when I fell down and blocked the path? Or send careening off the edge?

I needed a moment to compose myself.

In that moment, I knew a woman shouldn't be deterred my such nonsense as acute mortification and fear. Sniffing and huffing, my goggles fogged and my skis akimbo, I went for it. And I made it without bodily injury to others or myself. I let go of all the worry and started to focus on my instruction. I started to actually ski.

My friends had equipped me with helpful mantras and they became my whispered prayers:  Lean forward! Don't lean up the mountain! Bend your knees! Less butt! (At which point Juliana, my other helper, gingerly poked my postier.)

Half-way down the mountain, now able to stay on my feet for longer stretches and turn back and forth,  we passed an Almhütte (a small log cabin ski lodge) where a group of imbibers heartily cheered me on. I couldn't help but smile, knowing there would surely be more embarrassment (and there definitely was), but also proud of how far I'd come.

Agata and I paused to take some pictures after I had fallen off one of the tow-up lifts and had made it to the top again.

Teaching me to ski really took it out of her. :)