The Lift - Long but worth it & all true!
I saw the sun peeking through the space where the shade should meet the window as I lazily opened my eyes from my mid-winter slumber. I could see a light dusting of snow on the pine tree boughs from the previous evening. Mid-winter at its finest in New England. I listened to Dan, my other half, going about his normal routine on cold winter mornings. I heard the scuffing of his hard-soled slippers on the kitchen floor. I could tell by the sounds, that he was preparing the morning coffee, organizing the gear, brewing hot chocolate, making our lunches and then skillfully packing them. I thought about what the day would bring and I repeated my winter mantra over and over: "I can do it, I can do it." Finally, I jumped out of bed, already anxious to start the day.
Dan greeted me with my mug filled to the brim with hot, steaming Dunkin' Donuts coffee with just the right amount of hazelnut cream and we planned our schedule for the day with military precision. We would leave by 10:00 a.m., get to the mountain by 11:30 a.m., suit up, eat lunch and be on the chair lift with our snowboards by 12:00 noon. After we discussed our schedule, we grabbed our respective gear, packed the car and hit the road. We drove for what seemed like forever. We finally pulled off the highway, and made our necessary stop at the Blue Canoe gas station which, by the way, has a Dunkin' Donuts. As I waited patiently in line for the ladies' room, Dan ponied up to the Dunkin' Donuts counter and ordered a Boston cream donut, his favorite. He thought I didn't see him, but I did. But seeing him didn't matter because the evidence was all around the corner of his mouth when I got back to the car. We continued our ascent up winding mountainous roads. On each side of the road, I saw where granite was ripped from itself and it revealed a roadway that took us higher and higher into the snowy terrain. I gazed at the granite walls, and my mind drifted. I envisioned my worst and biggest fear over and over -- Falling off the chair lift.
When we arrived, the parking lot attendant directed us to an exceptionally tight spot. We ate our lunch in the car and talked about the remainder of the day. We chatted about the number of people that were going to be there, what the conditions were going to be like, and whether I would succeed or fail. It is no secret, and Dan probably thought he was helping, but just by having that conversation, my anxiety level escalated ten-fold and the hairs on my arm stood at attention. We finished lunch and suited up. Dan finished way ahead of me as he always did. He took our gear out of the trunk and dutifully unpacked our snowboards from their cocoon like bags. Before I retrieved my board, I double-checked my gear: boots, board, bibs, coat, helmet, Chap Stick, Kleenex, goggles, and of course the mittens with wrist protection. All set!
A hideous creature with sinuous arms, and bulbous appendages zoomed around at speeds inconceivable to man. It whisked away unsuspecting passengers to the mountain's lower peaks. From my vantage point, I saw that the pads on the chair itself were a putrid vinyl brown with plenty of little cracks that allowed the cotton padding underneath to be exposed. The exposed padding appeared like sharp jagged teeth, the putrid vinyl materialized into a very wicked and aged face. It mocked me. I knew that it would have me in its grips. Sweat started to build beneath my helmet, my goggles started to fog up, and the boots that I meticulously laced begun to hurt in all the wrong places! "No worries," I said to myself, "I can do this today."
Dan and I scooted over to our respective places in the lift line. He looked at me and asked if I was okay, I nodded my head up and down. The lift was a quad. This meant that we would be merged with two other people. I sensed this was not good. Immediately before our turn to board the lift, I whispered in Dan's ear "Let them go ahead so we can have two to this chair." He reluctantly agreed. This was not proper lift-etiquette. The mantra started in my head: I can do this, I know I can; I can get on and off the lift without falling.
Our turn arrived; we scooted up to the icy landing and prepared ourselves to board the lift. The chair, our chair, raced towards us. I heard it as it turned the corner, horrific sounds emanated from its sinuous arms attached to its gears. The bulbous mass detached and slowed down. It is supposed to slow down after its detachment to make it easy to get on. Personally, I think it speeds up. The lift placed itself right behind us. I felt the pressure at the back of my knees. The pressure forced me to sit. I sat! I made it! I knew that was the easy part. On the short ride up, I kept reminding myself of one of my many lessons --How to get off the lift: When it is close to the time to get off the lift, raise the safety bar; slide one cheek off like you are riding a horse English style; when the back of your board hits the landing, lay it flat. Place your loose foot on your stomp pad. I did exactly what was I taught. My confidence was in full force - or maybe it was my adrenaline-I pried myself off the chair. The remainder of the lesson finished up as follows: Do not use the chair to push off, just let gravity do the work and cautiously glide down the little slope. I started to glide cautiously down. I paid careful attention to the lesson I learned and my actions reflected that I had. I realized that I could make it, and I went for it! Just as I went for it, a dreadful, foreboding thought of fear enveloped my whole being. I slapped at the air frantically with my mitten-covered hands as I tried to gain my balance. My vocal chords screamed AHHHHHH! My balanced failed, and I recklessly reached for Dan and made contact. I subjected him to a Vulcan death grip unlike any ever witnessed. A split-second later it dawned on me what I had done and I immediately released Dan from the mittened death-grip. I fell like a squat timber after it has been axed down and harvested for wood. My body was contorted. My snowboard and my boot securely strapped to it via its binding, was underneath by body; my other leg was splayed out in front of me; my arms were held up like a virtual letter "Y"; my goggles that I had placed on the top of my helmet were now behind it, and the cold snow that had trapped itself beneath my jacket began to melt against my over-exerted body.. I looked like an Olympic Sprinter who just had a chance encounter with a snowboard while negotiating the gate on a mountain! I laughed. I laughed because I could not do anything else.
I willingly manipulated my legs to a more natural position. I repositioned my board, fixed my goggles, shook off the humiliation, and regained my composure. I scurried out of the way of the other skier/riders who readied themselves to disembark from the lift. I strapped my loose foot into its binding and tentatively headed down the snow-covered mountain. I negotiated the turns on the mountain with relative ease and glided cautiously on top of the hard-packed snow. It did not take long to get down the mountain and I even gained some confidence. I made it down without a broken rib nor the opportunity to run a young kid down like a wild banshee. As soon as I reached the bottom of the mountain, I went back up the lift. I repeated the same episode time-after-time that day. The only exception was that splayed arms would sometimes take the place of splayed legs, and the goggles would stay put. Our day ended with celebratory hot chocolate with Baileys Irish Cream.
Dan and I descended the mountainous road and I gazed at the granite walls and reflected on the day. I realized I had the fortitude, determination, conviction, willingness and humor as I attempted to conquer the dreaded chairlift.
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