Skiing shenanigans

To set the record straight, I've always been a skier. Just not a very good one.

Since my sister is here visiting and we've been doing a lot of skiing the past week, I thought it might be interesting to go through my skiing career and document some of the highs - but mostly the lows - of the winters I spent wasting money and injuring myself in the snow.

Age 3: Recently uncovered videotape evidence suggests I spend most of the time flailing on the ground or trying to pelt my mom with snowballs.

Damage report: Several mean statements directed toward my parents are retracted.

The bruises never are.

Age 6: Alternate between sledding and skiing down this huge hill somewhere in New York.

Many crashes follow.

No chair lifts or t-bars are present, so I'm forced to trudge back up the hill carrying my skis.

Lots of whining follows.

Damage report: The horrible perfume of the woman in front of me walking up the hill burns my nose, damages my sense of smell forever.

It's like someone took a fruit basket and put it in a blender with a bunch of body lotion and potpourri.

It's omnipresent and overpowering.

Age 11: While on a ski trip with my friend and his family, I decide it would be an awesome idea to ski out of bounds and hit a bunch of jumps built by snowboarders.

Damage report: After hitting a huge jump, I sprain my knee on the landing.

Lots of tears follow.

Age 13: My cousin Patrick and I come up with this wonderful, yet completely ridiculous idea:

We wonder what would happen if you eject yourself out of your skis while going down the mountain as fast as you can.

Naturally, we try it.

We get a big head of steam coming down one of the easier trails, stick our poles in the back of our bindings, push down and then fly like champions.

Again and again.

Damage report: I break my nose and my dad's goggles, and show up to dinner with a smile and tons of blood on my face.

Age 16: While not paying attention on a chair lift, I get one of my ski tips caught in a large snowbank as the chair takes off.

The ski catapults me out of the chair, face-first into the snow to a chorus of laughter from friends and family alike.

Damage report: My self-respect takes a hit, plunging me deeper and deeper into a lifetime of regret and sadness.

Age 21: While skiing with my family in Wyoming, I run into several mean kids from my high school in Tennessee and a fairly large mogul.

Damage report: I bruise my ego and my sternum.

Age 24 (part 1): On my first trip to Big Mountain, on my new pair of skis, I go straight to the top without warming up. Instead of flying down the mountain like I imagined, I slipped off the side of a trail and ended up in a creek bed.

Damage report: I scrape my elbow and forearm, lose all self-confidence and swear off skiing forever.

Age 24 (part 2): My sister comes to visit, makes me ski again.

Damage report: I twist my ankle, get some sort of sinus infection and come to grips with the fact that I'm the worst skier in the history of time.