Skiing

We arrived at Chicopee Ski Resort with snow falling and before we had changed, Daniel had already collected his snowboard and run off with his 16yo schoolgirl instructor.
After stuffing myself back into the snow suit and having the staff physically jam my feet into the ski boots and wedge a helmet on my head, we were given our skis and poles and sent out to meet our instructor, Megan, a slightly built young lady in her early twenties. Our instruction began.
This is how you get into your skis(note:not out!), this is how you shuffle around(note:not get up!), we went up the magic carpet of the kiddies slope and managed to skid down without falling over or killing any of the pre-school kids that were zooming around us. Our instructor took this as indication of some level of proficiency and decided that we were ready to try the same slope again, but from further up the mountain. Whilst we took our place in line for the chair lift, our instructor explained how to get on the chair lift(note:not get off!). Morgan and Megan took took the chair in front of Kathy and myself and the ride up the mountain was quite pleasent. We reached the summit and Morgan and the Megan gracefully exited the chair and, using the momentum, skied gently forward while the chair swung around to begin it's journey back down the slope. Hmmmm..., that looked pretty easy, some of our apprehension dissolved. Our chair approached the disembarkation area and our skis touched the snow. We stood but, unfortunatley, the momentum that had propelled Morgan and the instuctor elegantly across the snow only applied to the lower halves of our bodies and with a syncronisity that would have impressed Torvil and Dean, our legs flew out from under us, our arms flew wide and we simutaneously landed on our arses. I thought, no worries, I don't think too many people saw that, I'll jump straight back up and get on without making a fuss. The first thing that came apparent was that with ski boots on, your ankle is locked into one position. This makes it difficult to get up. I then realised that with skis protuding outwards a half a metre from both ends of your feet makes it impossible to move your feet in any direction that would assist you in regaining an upright posture. It was at this point that I realised that I would not be jumping back to my feet pretending that nothing had happened and I should probably try and clear the chair lift landing area for the next lot of skiers. Kathy had reached the same conclusion at around the same time and we both started trying to crawl away from the disembarking area. It soon became evident that, despite the much flailing of skis and clawing of fingers, we were not going anywhere. By this time the chair lift operator had stopped the lift and was looking at us in the way that someone might look at dog poo on their lounge room carpet. The people in the chair behind us were stopped right above where we were flopping around on the snow like a couple of fish out of water and looking at us with pitiful contempt. Morgan had heard the comotion and had turned and immediatly burst into tears of laughter. Megan rolled her eyes and came back to assist. After trying unsucessfully to lift me to my feet, she removed one of my skis, enabling me flop over to our chair and hand over hand, raise me to my knees and with determination eventually to my feet.
Minutes later, we had our skis back on and were standing at the top of what looked like a sheer drop. Oooooooooh.........this could get untidy!
I completed the run with arms flailing after crashing only once.
I thought this was a grand achievement and was ready to retire to the bar having crossed skiing of the list. Megan thought we were ready for the next grade slope. I questioned the wisdom of her suggestion to which she responded by challenging "If you feel you are not ready for the Little Bear slope, you can stay on the Little Bunny slope"
Bitch!
So, off to the Little Bear slope we went.
Megan decided, wisley I thought, that we should practice stopping on the slopes by applying a games she uses with particularly uncoordinated children called "GREEN LIGHT, RED LIGHT" where we were to position our skis in an inverted "V" shape called "The Plough" which should slow us to a halt.
Perched at the top of the run with our instructor positioned someway below us on the slope, I started wondering if they employed Saint Bernards with barrels of whiskey to tend to broken skiers. Megan startled me out of my pleasent daydream "green light". Off we went. I picked up speed alarmingly quickly and, almost immediately, decided to apply my plough. This seemed to have no effect whatsoever as I actually picked up speed. "red light" Megan called. I gritted my teeth and pushed harder into the inverted V. My speed increased. Megan, thinking maybe I had not heard her repeated "Red Light" a little louder as I hurtled towards her. "RED LIGHT" she shrieked, a little panic creeping into her voice, as I careened past her with great avalanches of snow flying from my plough, still accelerating. As I passed her, I explained that my plough was fully applied but seemed to be of insufficient friction to arrest my 125kgs and slow the velocity let alone bring me to a stop. Well, that's what I thought I said but Morgan recalled it sounded like "Shhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" followed by a thud as I gracefully completed a mid air pirouette and entered a snowbank at high speed.
Right, time for lunch then.
I suspected Kathy possibly would not be returning to the slopes after she ordered a carafe of wine to accompany her soup. She then scared the kiddies with her impression of a Snow Monster, clumping around with her Ski Boots on and I continued to tease her about her gait as she reentered the restaurant until Morgan pointed out that she was no longer wearing the boots.
After a few beers, I returned to the slopes somewhat boldened and a little more relaxed. After the Kindy groups left, I practically had the Little Bunny slope all to myself.
Morgan had progressed well and was mixing it up with the locals on the grown ups slope whilst Daniels journeys down the slopes were evenly shared between the snowboard and his arse. Kathy ventured out of the bar occasionally to take pictures.
The following day walking was made difficult by the requirement of having to get out of bed.

Off for our first lesson

Morg cuts up the slopes

Dan looks for somewhere warm

We look good standing still