See, I joined the cross country ski club in the fourth grade. Saved my money to buy my very own set of skis that I lugged on the school bus every Tuesday and Thursday. Started downhill skiing with Dad in the fifth grade. That ended badly in the spring of sixth grade with an incident that involved and idiot girl and a tree. But that's another story for my own blog, not for the one devoted solely to the ridiculosity of Emzy's life.
Somehow we managed to talk Emzy into giving cross country skiing the old college try. But since we only had one set of teenage sized skis, I waited at the lodge while she and Dad took off for a quick spin on the "warm up loop" of Birch Ski Hill. And, mind you, the warm up loop begins with a slight downhill followed by some pretty level ground. I would know. I skied it several times each week.
I watched as the two of them headed off to the opening of the warm up loop and then went inside the lodge to sit and wait. The place was deserted. I was the only one there. It wasn't your typical ski lodge with a coffee bar and pro shop. Just a log cabin with benches and a bar where the ski moms would serve cookies and home made hot chocolate. I distinctly remember the emptiness of the lodge because I had a chocolate power bar in the front pocket of my pullover pink and black speckled ski jacket. (Don't judge.) I pulled the power bar out of the pocket not long after they left for the loop and took a bite. Rather, I tried to take a bite. It was already frozen solid. And I remember being glad that there was nobody else around to see me being awkwardly hungry.
I wrapped the power bar back up, put it back in the pocket, and went to sit on the bench outside. And as I looked across the open field (do you call it a field when it's covered in snow?) I saw Emzy walking back, carrying the skis. When she made it back to me she said, "I knew I was going to fall! And you guys told me there were no hills. And that was steep at the very beginning!" She gave me the skis and sat down to wait while Dad and I went about our business on the hill.
When I caught back up to Dad, he proceeded to tell me what had actually transpired. As he tried to explain to her how to go slowly downhill by pointing the toes of the skis together, she started off and went about four feet before stopping and basically laying down in the snow. Or, falling, as she swore up and down that she did.
I realize that this is not one of the funniest stories of all time, but this was the beginning of the Epic Falls of Emzy. Even though she brought this one on herself. She had it so set in her mind that she was going to fall, she made sure she did. Oh, Emzy. She never skied again. And still swears to this day that this "fall" dented her shin. That's right. DENTED her SHIN.
give me a minute...i'll find the DENT in my SHIN!!!!
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