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Ruralite Cafe: Published 01/30/03

By Lisa Majors-Duff - News Editor

Downhill skiing: Winter's wildest ride

 Lisa
"Let's go skiing," my daughter said more in the form of a statement than a question. I could think of no reason to deny her request. "Why not," I said instead of making up some lame excuse, like the living room rug needed to be vacuumed.

Besides, an adventure of this sort seemed just the way to celebrate my latest achievement at the gym. After a year of forcing myself to walk into "Testosteroneville" three times a week to pick up pieces of steel labeled with ever increasing weights like 35, 45 and 55 pounds, I'd managed that evening to perform the single act of physical strength that had prevented me from attaining "Presidential Physical Fitness" status during my years in grade school. I did a pull-up. Actually, I did two, but the first one was so easy it was unbelievable.

With that goal so suddenly and surprisingly accomplished (I'd been told a pull-up was something I should not hope for for another six months or more), I immediately began searching for a new challenge. Niki's request became the deciding factor: The black diamond run at Cataloochee would be my next Everest.

Having spent my early years in sun country (Go Bucs!) and not snow country, I was a high school sophomore before the idea of strapping on skis and giving up all control of my lower extremities entered my mind. Opportunity came knocking when the folks at Cataloochee offered a free lesson and lift ticket to all downhill rookies brave or crazy enough to give skiing a try.

That was me, all right, a rookie. I was so clueless about the sport I thought jeans and a sweat shirt amounted to the perfect attire when taking to the slopes. Frozen from the outer layers of skin to deep inside my bones and covered in contusions, I would have never gone back after that first trip except I remembered what my instructor had said that frigid night at the bottom of the mountain: "You may not have any fun tonight, but you have to try it again. The next time will be easier!"

She was right, and except for an extended break while Niki was little, I've been going back to the snow-covered slopes each and every time opportunity blows a chilling blast of arctic air through my hair.

Unfortunately, not all ski outings are memorable. Like earlier this month when I traveled to Mars Hill the day after the big snow storm to ski Wolf Laurel, a place I'd heard about for years and imagined to be a shimmering jewel in the ski world. Boy, had I been snowed. The runs were short and more horizontal than vertical. Throw in temperatures in the single digits and skis that would not ski, and the day was a bust.

This weekend's trip to Cataloochee, on the other hand, was beyond thrilling. The weather was perfect, the lift lines were tolerable, and the powder, while it lasted, was light and fluffy. Spending an hour one-on-one with ski instructor Gerald, who worked to correct many of the mistakes I'd been making for years, proved to be most beneficial and gave me more than enough confidence to tackle the black diamond.

What a ride, and I don't mean the ski lift. I can't say for sure if it was more exciting finding within myself the power and endurance required to stay on my skis throughout the run or if that feeling of amazement was aroused by watching Niki work her way down from the top of the mountain.

What I do know is that downhill skiing is a fantastic way to spend a day. Armed with a PowerBar, the right gloves and the knowledge that the fire in the lodge is always aglow, you gotta' try it, at least twice.

Back to Archive: 01/30/03.