Shouldn’t We Start On the Bunny Hill?

The day after my sister’s wedding was the first time I was able to try out my newly purchased ski equipment. A friend’s dad, who had been skiing for most of his life, had offered to teach me the basics. I had gladly accepted the offer because the only other time I had been skiing had not gone as smoothly as I would have liked. A few years ago some of my sister’s friends from Connecticut were visiting our house and thought that it would be fun to all go to a nearby ski resort for the day. My sister had begged me to go along since she had never been skiing before and didn’t want to be the only one to look like a fool. I agreed to join them (mostly because my sister had offered to pay for my lift ticket and ski rental). Since skiing wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence, I didn’t have any proper ski clothes, so I chose to wear my dull, brown Carhart coat and Wrangler blue jeans. I looked like a farmer boy and felt like an idiot, but I told myself that other people there would be wearing work clothes. They weren’t.

A Tale of Two Bindings

If you read my last post you may recall that I have had some minor issues as I attempt to start learning how to ski. I had gone to multiple ski shops only to find that no one would adjust my ski bindings. All of that changed yesterday when I took my skis to a new shop. I was quite distrustful of ski shops at this point, so I had made sure to call ahead and confirm that they did in fact have the bindings I was looking for and that they would install them for me. So I entered the shop with the same wariness that a shark attack survivor has when going swimming.