hitting the slopes

The first (and last) time that I went skiing, I was about 15 or 16. I was invited by my cousin Emily to go up to Sundance with my aunt and uncle. It was really great because we got to stay overnight in a lodge and then the next day we were able to take a lesson. We were put into different classes because Emily had actually been skiing, and I had never done more than gone sledding down on a hill on my backside. Needless to say, I was put into the beginner group.
I wasn't doing too badly at the beginning, in fact my instructor told me that I was a natural. That bit of praise must have gone to my head because soon after that I was headed directly into the pull rope motor on the bunny hill and I couldn't stop. I was pulled out with only my pride hurt, luckily. Later, after I was spreading my wings, I went down the hill on my own. Of course at the exact moment I was rolling down the hill and trying to keep my ski from careening down like a missile, I looked above me and my cousin and her instructor were laughing and having a heyday with my collision! Well, after that Emily and I did go down the hill together and we had a great day on the slopes. But skiing after that was just a fun memory because I hadn't gone again.
Bart decided that all he wanted for his birthday was for us to go skiing. I knew he was serious when he scheduled a day off, which he rarely does. Looking at resorts we opted for Wolf Mountain because of its cheap lift tickets. I mean, neither one of us are really serious skiers. I soon found out how un-serious of a skier I was. I was content to stay on the small hill, until I was cramping Bart's style, so we decided to head up to the bigger hill. Okay, for you real skier types, you will say that there isn't even a big hill at Wolf Mountain, but it was HUGE for me. The entire way up I thought Bart was going to kill me, and at the top, I admit, I just sat down and told him to go have fun because I was just going to sit there until someone took me down. I know, I was totally irrational. But if you know about my fear of heights, there may be a small bit of understanding. Bart made me get up and he tutored me down the hill. I soon found that the 'snow-plow' technique was my best friend. And I made it down without any broken bones. Bart later says, "Now arn't you embarassed with how you treated me?" Well, I'm sorry Bart, but you know how irrational fears can be! Well, after that I picked up the hang of it and we had a great time. I would have stayed forever if (1) it hadn't been getting dark, (2) we had two boys waiting for us, and (3) if my boots hadn't been squeezing my calves so much that my feet were falling asleep.

We've decided to make it a tradition to go skiing every year for Bart's birthday. I can't wait for next year! Thanks to my honey for being patient with me and for making me do something that I didn't think I could do! You're the best.