Male Bonding
Jan. 23rd, 2011 01:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lawnrrdI got a lot of exercise last week, including climbing and a lot of various forms of cardio, and culminating with skiing yesterday in the Poconos. Today, I'm a little tired and sore, and I've been famished all week.
This was the third time I'd ever tried to ski. The first time, I was four years old, and my mother drove us to Bolton Valley, Vermont for a few days. My mother put me on a pair of skis and then waited to see if anything happened. Me, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I noticed that everyone around me seemed to be holding ski poles, but my mother wouldn't give me a pair, explaining that kids didn't really need them. But that left me with no clue about what I did need, and no instruction, formal or otherwise, seemed forthcoming.1 So I spent the entire trip going down a hill on a cafeteria tray, which isn't so bad when you're four years old and amply supplied with hot chocolate.
My second ski trip was in February 2002, when I drove out to Camelback in the Poconos for a day. I took a lesson and had lots of fun until the middle of the afternoon, when I lost control, wiped out, and broke my left hand.2 You see, either the teacher or the student (viz., me), had elided the part where you're not supposed to point your skis straight down the mountain and hope for the best.
I didn't know my hand was broken until a week and a half later, actually. My face had taken the brunt of the fall and got scratched up a little bit. I could tell by the way people looked at me after I picked myself up and walked back to the lodge that I ought to clean myself up, and that took most of my attention. Only afterwards did I notice that my hand hurt.
It hurt a lot less than I expected a broken bone to hurt, so I assumed it was merely bruised or something. The next weekend, I actually managed to dismember and debone a goose3 despite the injury to my knife hand.4 In the process, though, I noticed that one of my knuckles was missing: considering that a bad sign, I called my doctor, which led to some impressive X-rays and an operation.
This trip was occasioned by the desire to find something fun for me and the boy to do this weekend while my wife is in London. He really enjoys playing We Ski for the Wii, so I asked him if he'd like to try to ski for real. He enthusiastically said yes.
I wanted us to start with lessons and then to have a few hours to ski together, which meant we'd have to be on the slopes, fully equipped, at 9:45 AM. Working backwards, I figured that, for a day trip, we'd need to wake up and be functional at 6 AM to leave time for loading the car, breakfast, driving (with a cushion for possible traffic), renting equipment, etc. This didn't seem practical, considering that the boy is six years old and has a father who is the exact opposite of a morning person.
So I did a little research and found a hotel room for $100, 15 minutes from Camelback.5 Preparation for the trip and driving out went fairly smoothly, despite a few hiccups.6 If your travels should take you near East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, I do recommend the Budget Inn and Suites.
Despite getting to bed late, the boy woke up early. I knew he would be tired later, but there was nothing to be done for it but to get dressed for skiing, get breakfast, and go. The forecast of 5 degrees on waking up turned out to be accurate, so I was careful about layering clothes on both of us. We stopped at the ski shop on the mountain to buy a pair of ski pants for me.7 I was pleasantly surprised by the non-obscenity of the price.
Admission, rental, and getting to our lessons went smoothly. I dropped the boy off at the kids' group lesson and then was led to the adults' beginners' lesson. Despite my inexperience, I was clearly way ahead of the other four people in my group: I was the only one who didn't keep getting my skis tangled in each other or sliding backwards down the training hill (even mellower than the bunny slope). So, about halfway through the lesson, our instructor went off for a minute and found another instructor for me. As a result, I had a 45-minute private lesson that quickly went through wedge turns and went on to parallel turns.
I returned to pick up the boy and found out that he had not done so well. His group's instructor told me that he had earned the nickname "Mister Noodle" because of his inability to stay upright, especially when anyone touched him. I saw the rest of the afternoon flash before my eyes and didn't really like what I saw. So that seemed like a good time to break for lunch.
After chicken fingers and french fries, we went back out to the bunny slope. The boy had some trouble crossing the flat snow and fell over on the "magic carpet" lift the first time we finally got him to it. We eventually figured out that I could push him if I stood behind him, with my skis angled outside his.
He made it down the bunny slope a few times, falling at least a couple of times on each ride down. He demanded to go up one of the more impressive lifts and down one of the more challenging hills. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he was sure that his expertise at We Ski qualified him for the harder stuff in reality. I eventually made him a deal: we would try the harder beginners' slope (where I'd had the second half of my lesson) and its lift if he could make it to and up the magic carpet lift without my help, pick himself up when he fell (again, without my help), and make it down the bunny slope without falling. He agreed, set off to do it, and substantially succeeded.
I made good on the deal. On seeing the new hill, he said, "That is more dangerous." He then stepped into his skis and headed straight down the hill. He skied down a little way, fell down, waited for me to pick him up, lather, rinse, repeat, etc. Eventually he reached the bottom, and we rode back up on the lift. By then, it was time to go.
We both wound up having a good time. The boy says that he had a good time, and "of course" he would go again. I think that I would have enjoyed the skiing itself more if I'd been midget-free—I would have done a few green-dot-but-not-novice trails, and I certainly would have had more time and energy for runs. As it was, It took a lot of time and energy picking the boy up and holding him steady while he stepped back into his skis, over and over and over. But it was a great father-son experience, and, I have to say, being his guardian, helper, and rescuer made me develop my control and situational awareness much more thoroughly than I would have without him, and those skills should make my next grown-up trip that much more fun.
My dedication to preventing hypothermia had left us both kind of overheated and dehydrated, though.
We pulled out of the parking lot at around 3:30 pm. I stopped at a Starbucks about fifteen minutes away, but the boy insisted on remaining in the car. I was nervous about leaving him alone, but I locked him in the car, the Starbucks was two doors down from where I was parked, and, according to the parking meter, I was gone only five minutes. That was still long enough for him to fall asleep in the back seat, though.
The ride back was quiet and uneventful, and the only traffic was outside of the Holland Tunnel. Including the time for the coffee detour, the trip took just over two hours.
That left time to unload the car, take a power nap, and give myself and the boy showers before the babysitter came. I then joined a small group including![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lisavnyc and alanesq for dinner at a new restaurant in Park Slope. The evening was a lot of fun, but the day had taken a lot out of me. I was half-dead by the time I got home.
This morning, I slept late, the well-trained boy eating the breakfast I had left for him and playing video games until I woke up. Today, I'm tired and a bit sore, but will clean the house and otherwise get ready for the football games and the wife's return.
1Nearly forty years later, I'm still a little angry about this. The incident in itself was trivial, but it has become to me a symbol of how it virtually never in my childhood occurred to the adults raising me or otherwise around that I might benefit from a bit of guidance or even minimally helpful advice.
2Leading, concindentally, to the creation of this LiveJournal account.
3For food.
4The goose was dead when I started, though, so maybe this wasn't all that impressive.
5Aside from its proximity, Camelback appeals to me because I could see it from the summer camp I attended as a kid. I always wondered what it was like to ski there.
6If you should find a brown paper shopping bag, containing a brand-new pair of ski pants from Eastern Mountain Sports, under a seat on the F train, I would be most grateful if you would contact me.
7See note 6, supra.
This was the third time I'd ever tried to ski. The first time, I was four years old, and my mother drove us to Bolton Valley, Vermont for a few days. My mother put me on a pair of skis and then waited to see if anything happened. Me, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I noticed that everyone around me seemed to be holding ski poles, but my mother wouldn't give me a pair, explaining that kids didn't really need them. But that left me with no clue about what I did need, and no instruction, formal or otherwise, seemed forthcoming.1 So I spent the entire trip going down a hill on a cafeteria tray, which isn't so bad when you're four years old and amply supplied with hot chocolate.
My second ski trip was in February 2002, when I drove out to Camelback in the Poconos for a day. I took a lesson and had lots of fun until the middle of the afternoon, when I lost control, wiped out, and broke my left hand.2 You see, either the teacher or the student (viz., me), had elided the part where you're not supposed to point your skis straight down the mountain and hope for the best.
I didn't know my hand was broken until a week and a half later, actually. My face had taken the brunt of the fall and got scratched up a little bit. I could tell by the way people looked at me after I picked myself up and walked back to the lodge that I ought to clean myself up, and that took most of my attention. Only afterwards did I notice that my hand hurt.
It hurt a lot less than I expected a broken bone to hurt, so I assumed it was merely bruised or something. The next weekend, I actually managed to dismember and debone a goose3 despite the injury to my knife hand.4 In the process, though, I noticed that one of my knuckles was missing: considering that a bad sign, I called my doctor, which led to some impressive X-rays and an operation.
This trip was occasioned by the desire to find something fun for me and the boy to do this weekend while my wife is in London. He really enjoys playing We Ski for the Wii, so I asked him if he'd like to try to ski for real. He enthusiastically said yes.
I wanted us to start with lessons and then to have a few hours to ski together, which meant we'd have to be on the slopes, fully equipped, at 9:45 AM. Working backwards, I figured that, for a day trip, we'd need to wake up and be functional at 6 AM to leave time for loading the car, breakfast, driving (with a cushion for possible traffic), renting equipment, etc. This didn't seem practical, considering that the boy is six years old and has a father who is the exact opposite of a morning person.
So I did a little research and found a hotel room for $100, 15 minutes from Camelback.5 Preparation for the trip and driving out went fairly smoothly, despite a few hiccups.6 If your travels should take you near East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania, I do recommend the Budget Inn and Suites.
Despite getting to bed late, the boy woke up early. I knew he would be tired later, but there was nothing to be done for it but to get dressed for skiing, get breakfast, and go. The forecast of 5 degrees on waking up turned out to be accurate, so I was careful about layering clothes on both of us. We stopped at the ski shop on the mountain to buy a pair of ski pants for me.7 I was pleasantly surprised by the non-obscenity of the price.
Admission, rental, and getting to our lessons went smoothly. I dropped the boy off at the kids' group lesson and then was led to the adults' beginners' lesson. Despite my inexperience, I was clearly way ahead of the other four people in my group: I was the only one who didn't keep getting my skis tangled in each other or sliding backwards down the training hill (even mellower than the bunny slope). So, about halfway through the lesson, our instructor went off for a minute and found another instructor for me. As a result, I had a 45-minute private lesson that quickly went through wedge turns and went on to parallel turns.
I returned to pick up the boy and found out that he had not done so well. His group's instructor told me that he had earned the nickname "Mister Noodle" because of his inability to stay upright, especially when anyone touched him. I saw the rest of the afternoon flash before my eyes and didn't really like what I saw. So that seemed like a good time to break for lunch.
After chicken fingers and french fries, we went back out to the bunny slope. The boy had some trouble crossing the flat snow and fell over on the "magic carpet" lift the first time we finally got him to it. We eventually figured out that I could push him if I stood behind him, with my skis angled outside his.
He made it down the bunny slope a few times, falling at least a couple of times on each ride down. He demanded to go up one of the more impressive lifts and down one of the more challenging hills. Despite the evidence to the contrary, he was sure that his expertise at We Ski qualified him for the harder stuff in reality. I eventually made him a deal: we would try the harder beginners' slope (where I'd had the second half of my lesson) and its lift if he could make it to and up the magic carpet lift without my help, pick himself up when he fell (again, without my help), and make it down the bunny slope without falling. He agreed, set off to do it, and substantially succeeded.
I made good on the deal. On seeing the new hill, he said, "That is more dangerous." He then stepped into his skis and headed straight down the hill. He skied down a little way, fell down, waited for me to pick him up, lather, rinse, repeat, etc. Eventually he reached the bottom, and we rode back up on the lift. By then, it was time to go.
We both wound up having a good time. The boy says that he had a good time, and "of course" he would go again. I think that I would have enjoyed the skiing itself more if I'd been midget-free—I would have done a few green-dot-but-not-novice trails, and I certainly would have had more time and energy for runs. As it was, It took a lot of time and energy picking the boy up and holding him steady while he stepped back into his skis, over and over and over. But it was a great father-son experience, and, I have to say, being his guardian, helper, and rescuer made me develop my control and situational awareness much more thoroughly than I would have without him, and those skills should make my next grown-up trip that much more fun.
My dedication to preventing hypothermia had left us both kind of overheated and dehydrated, though.
We pulled out of the parking lot at around 3:30 pm. I stopped at a Starbucks about fifteen minutes away, but the boy insisted on remaining in the car. I was nervous about leaving him alone, but I locked him in the car, the Starbucks was two doors down from where I was parked, and, according to the parking meter, I was gone only five minutes. That was still long enough for him to fall asleep in the back seat, though.
The ride back was quiet and uneventful, and the only traffic was outside of the Holland Tunnel. Including the time for the coffee detour, the trip took just over two hours.
That left time to unload the car, take a power nap, and give myself and the boy showers before the babysitter came. I then joined a small group including
lisavnyc and alanesq for dinner at a new restaurant in Park Slope. The evening was a lot of fun, but the day had taken a lot out of me. I was half-dead by the time I got home.This morning, I slept late, the well-trained boy eating the breakfast I had left for him and playing video games until I woke up. Today, I'm tired and a bit sore, but will clean the house and otherwise get ready for the football games and the wife's return.
1Nearly forty years later, I'm still a little angry about this. The incident in itself was trivial, but it has become to me a symbol of how it virtually never in my childhood occurred to the adults raising me or otherwise around that I might benefit from a bit of guidance or even minimally helpful advice.
2Leading, concindentally, to the creation of this LiveJournal account.
3For food.
4The goose was dead when I started, though, so maybe this wasn't all that impressive.
5Aside from its proximity, Camelback appeals to me because I could see it from the summer camp I attended as a kid. I always wondered what it was like to ski there.
6If you should find a brown paper shopping bag, containing a brand-new pair of ski pants from Eastern Mountain Sports, under a seat on the F train, I would be most grateful if you would contact me.
7See note 6, supra.
