I was a Weekend Warrior

Today, my body is telling me that I have only one more week as a 46 year old, and turning 47 next Tuesday brings me even closer to the big 5-0.

How the heck did I get to be so old? And when did walking down all the stairs in this split level house we bought become so painful?

Oh, wait. I have an answer to that question. The second question, that is. My thighs started protesting stairs on Monday morning after an usually athletic weekend.

On Saturday, we went on our annual skiing trip. I’m not much of a skiier, so the girls and I took a lesson together. We had a great instructor this year! She went through the basics with us, and then we went up the ski lift to practice our turns. The girls both have great balance! Our instructor is also a guide for blind skiers, and we saw her later with a bright orange vest, guiding a blind skier to the ski lift. Isn’t that a neat program?

skiing Alpine Valley
Proof that I went skiing

I think I embarrassed my daughter when I called out some teens that were trying to cut in line for the ski lift. I don’t care. I’m old. And they were wrong.

skiing at Alpine Valley
Lily, Emmy and Ed

Sunday morning I woke up with sore ankles, mostly from where the rented ski boots rubbed against my shins. Other than that, I felt pretty good. That afternoon, the entire family was invited to a Girl Scout outing at the Sweatshop. You can imagine what we did while we were there! A very enthusiastic (young) man led us in exercising for a whole hour. He was amazing! The kids had a blast, and the parents had fun, too! The dance-off between the kids and parents was especially fun. The kids danced to Beyonce and the adults danced the Village People–YMCA, of course!

Working out at the gym using the treadmill and elliptical, however, is much different than bouncing around like Tigger on steroids for an hour. For the most part, I was able to keep up with all the exercising due to my gym visits, but then the next day my thighs complained bitterly. (And are still complaining, I might add!) Sometimes I have to remind myself that yes, I am older than many of the other moms. But I’ve also gone through a lot to get here, and I’m proud to be a 46-almost-47-year-old-mom.

Let’s see if I still feel the same way when I turn 50!

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Winter Wonderland

Driving through the brown farmlands of Illinois, we came around a curve and the white hills rose into view. The snow covering the ski mountain was not cloud generated, but made by snow machines. The emotions floating around in our car varied from anxiety to excitement. Emmy was vacillating between wanting to take ski lessons and wanting to drive home. Remembering the fun she had had last year, Lily could hardly wait for the day ahead.

I was along as part of the support team. I was the booted half, Ed was the half on skis. While I’m not much of a skier, Ed loves this winter sport.  While we were dating, skiing was one of the first things he wanted to introduce to me. The problem, however, is that we live in the flat Midwest. A Midwestern ski resort is not big; it’s not fancy, but it does just fine as a place to learn and have fun.

Midwest skiing

 
Being in boots instead of skis made it easier for me to run errands and help out, even though most of the time I was just standing still and watching Emmy and Lily become more comfortable on skis.

Emmy amazed me with how quickly she learned to maneuver on skis. She shuffled up the carpet path on the learning hill easily, skied down the hill effortlessly, and got back in line to do it all over again without ever once crossing her skis and falling down.

Lily quickly remembered what she had learned on her ski trip last year, and at the end of her lesson, she learned how to use the tow rope. Oh, that was hard for me to watch! The first time she grabbed hold of the rope, it yanked her forward so hard that she fell flat on her face. The instructor gave her some tips, and then…the rope yanked her again! She lost her skis a couple times. Lily is tenacious, however. She finally got the hang of it and was able to get to the top of the hill. She skied gracefully between all the cones on the way down, not hitting one of them.

I was so grateful that Ed had been watching the weather carefully. The temperature was about 40 degrees, but it was windy. “You look cold, Mom!” one of the ski lift operators told me as he walked by. “You need to start dancing…it’s like the potty dance, except without the ‘having to pee’ part!” I laughed as I pulled my scarf up higher over my rosy cheeks.

Cold as I was, I was content. I’m glad that my children were learning something I don’t know how to do. I’m glad they were fearless in a place where I have been frozen by fear.

Maybe next year I’ll put the skis back on and try again to get over my fear of falling; my fear of heights. I know from experience that once I get that fear behind me, I’ll love the feeling of being on skis. But this winter, it was my time to just be there, watching and supporting my girls.

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