Kurt hails from a family of excellent skiers. No mean feat considering they resided in one of the flattest provinces in Canada. And I, living next door to Whistler, can only vaguely attest to having fallen up a bunny hill during a sixth grade field trip.

This Christmas, we decided that it was high time to get on the mountain and teach me how to ski. Kurt considered teaching me himself, but with his current knee injury, we instead signed me up for proper lessons at one of the local hills. It is somewhat of a blessing in disguise. Kurt as ski instructor + my fear of heights + his impatience and recklessness = me zooming down the runs in hysteria and giving up all hope of ever going down a mountain again.

The ladies-only instruction at Mount Seymour has been a blast. Nine of us were assigned to the absolute-beginners group during Lesson #1. We learned how to fall down and get up as the first order of business. After familiarizing ourselves with cross-country and uphill skiing (and getting terribly out of breath in the process), we tackled the bunny hill. It surprises me now how gentle the slope is. My body remembers it differently. The hill had yawned in front of me like an abyss. Liquid fear coursed through my veins at the thought of going down. I yelped with terror every time my elevation dropped faster than a centimetre per second. But by the end of the night, the nerves started to lesson and I actually began to enjoy the swoosh of the skis and the softness of the snow underfoot.

The second lesson built upon the first. We left the bunny hill after the first hour and took turns getting videotaped going down a section of the adjacent run. Took a moment to take shots of the hill and a quick clip of Trisha during her video analysis. Was a little worried about the chairlift, as I am afraid of heights and easily hit with vertigo, but it was a lot easier to sit in that chair than it was to traverse those terrifying floating escalators on Victoria Peak in Hong Kong!

Alas, the third time up Mount Seymour was not without its trials and tribulations. Three of us were relegated to the intermediate-beginners section. It was a sudden switch that must have gotten me apprehensive, since I proceeded to fall all over the same slope that I skied so confidently down the week before. One fall was particularly nasty. Must have caught an edge while going too fast over a steep bit. Before I knew it, my face hit the ground in front of me and I felt my brain jiggle into the back of my skull…not the most pleasant of sensations. Goggles and toque were buried in the snow a few metres away. One ski had disconnected with my boot and was in the hands of my concerned instructor. (Later I would discover all the tiny scrapes on my face and a gigantic purply-red bruise on my left bum cheek that is the likely source of my limp.) The fall was certainly a blow to the ego, but it was only 15 minutes into the lesson! Dusted the snow off, reminded myself not to be such a giant wuss, and steeled myself for the next hour and 45 minutes to go.

Already feeling bad for dragging the rest of the group behind, I refused to be the one to say no to trying a new run. So off we went up the Mystery Chair to the peak. We spent the first half along the green Manning run (I fell somewhere there too, trying to avoid a snowboarder!) and opted to go down the treacherously named Elevator Shaft for the rest of the journey down. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. By the time we got to the bottom, the accomplishment of having conquered a long run re-established some of the confidence that was wiped out by the lovely face wash earlier in the night.

Thank goodness for the instructor and fellow students! They were all so encouraging despite my frequent falls. We took pictures after the lesson and a bunch of us wound down with a bit of apres-ski.

What a journey…and sadly, it is nearly over. Only one more lesson left before we are left to our own devices. Hopefully I can report happy tidings next week and deliver some DSLR-quality shots of Mount Seymour for your viewing pleasure!