We’ll do things a little bit backwards this week, as the pictures from Myrtle Beach still aren’t posted yet. I’ll start with Sunday’s events and then my next post will be about the marathon. I had a pretty epic weekend last weekend, but I guess that is kind of becoming par for the course lately.
My genius plan was to run the Myrtle Beach Marathon and then head directly from the beach to my parents’ summer house in North Carolina, which is about 45 minutes away from the best skiing in NC. I would then proceed to ski all day on Sunday as if my legs didn’t put 65 miles on them last week. What could go wrong?
AJ, Brandon (his brother) and I arrived at the house around 7:30. I was super fun in the car – I wrote the race report for the Mercedes Marathon, I worked on spreadsheets for work, I napped. Very helpful on long car trips, natch. Blake and Emily showed up around 9:30 and I want to say we were all asleep by 10:30. Interestingly, the worst sleep I ever get is the night after a marathon. I’m not sure why. I guess I’m all hopped up. So I woke up bright and early on Sunday morning ready to hit the slopes. Literally. The forecast had called for rain in the morning turning to snow on Sugar Mountain sometime during the day. Interesting fact: there are few things I love more than snow.
The snow gods smiled upon us and the rain turned to fairly heavy snow as soon as we got out of the car at Sugar Mountain. By this point, we had already hit up a ski store, where I had bought child-size ski gear because 1) the kind I had borrowed made me look like a giant (and not in the tall way) and 2) it was 50% off. And it was orange and pink. AJ noted that I like to buy gear for things. This is true. Give me a new hobby and I will buy everything I need to be good at that hobby. Hey, go big or go home.
Please note our matching hats. The couple that matches ski gear together stays together, or something. So, you may remember that last time I went skiing was a bit of a disaster, ish. In case you missed it, here’s a quick recap: I came, I skied, I crashed. A lot. I crashed into barrels. I crashed into branches. I crashed into ice. I very nearly crashed into children. I didn’t exactly coat myself in glory, so I was admittedly a bit apprehensive about this trip. At the risk of sounding too much like a brat, I’ve registered for a lot of races and I kind of need my legs to stay in one piece if I’m going to run them. Good news is I’m already one step ahead of the game: I’m going to have AJ ask Kathy if it’s possible to get leg insurance. You know, just in case.
I am pretty lucky because AJ is super accommodating of my fears. He didn’t mind going with me down the bunny slopes. He always tells me I’m doing a good job, even when I’m very narrowly avoiding dodging Asian children (seriously, every single Asian person in all of North Carolina must go skiing at the same time, aka every time I go).
I only went on the bunny slopes once before
being forced against my will AJ suggested I join the millions of other people and children and go on the blue slopes. This is where the disaster occurred last time. They were making lots of snow, so every time you skied past a snow machine, it sounded like a plane was taking off and you couldn’t see anything. Maybe not the most foolproof recipe for success. For some reason though, despite the fairly noticeable ache in my legs from oh, the 26.2 miles I ran the day before, I skied pretty well. I didn’t fall. I went really, really slow. I pizzaed pretty much the whole way down the mountain, moving slowwwwlllly from side to side.
After a few runs, Emily and I got cold and decided to do what we do best while waiting for the boys to finish up so we could eat lunch. And by “what we do best,” I obviously mean drink. We got up to the bar at the ski center at 11:47 am, because it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Except apparently, we were 13 minutes early, so we chatted with an elderly lady and another man who seemed to also have the right idea. Then more and more people started coming and standing outside, waiting for the bar to open, while the staff inside just taunted us. There was nearly a mutiny.
When the 13 longest minutes in eternity finally ticked by, we took our seat at our usual table – the one that offered the best views of people falling. We also kept an eye out for AJ’s onesie, since it was quite clearly visible among the
normal other outfits. The snow was really starting to come down, but unlike our previous ski outing, Emily and I were quite content to sit around and drink beer because we weren’t still throwing up from the night before. Ah, memories.
Emily and I were basically big babies about the whole process and kept going inside, back outside, inside, and back outside. Whatever, we were getting cold, and it was snowing really hard – to the point where you couldn’t wear ski goggles because you couldn’t see, but if you didn’t wear them, you couldn’t ski. So not very helpful. Ski goggles basically destroy whatever depth perception you have when skiing, so I was left to just kind of hope that I wasn’t about to drop off a cliff. I didn’t drop off any cliffs, but I did go over a lot of moguls. If you’re trying to picture me moguling, imagine one leg/foot/ski up about hip level and the other down at normal standing elevation. Imagine me tipped over to the side with my arms flailing about as if independent from my body. And now you have me moguling. Somehow, I lived to tell about it.
On one of our return trips to the bar, we sat down at our table and the waitress asked us if we had gotten our drinks from the bar. We said yes. Her response? “Well these are MY tables so if y’all aren’t going to order anything else, I’m going to need you to leave so I can get some customers.” Um, I mean, ok? If the bar had been crowded, sure, I would understand, but at least half the tables were empty. And we never said we weren’t going to order something, we just weren’t right that second. So we ordered soup to spite her. T-Rex don’t care.
Heading back to the mountain, we saw some
idiots teenage/college boys skiing with literally their underwear and a jacket on. Let me be clear: if you do this, you’re a jackass. No one thinks you’re cool. The ladies do not think you’re tough. It’s 30 degrees and blizzarding and I am pretty confident that is not doing anything for the situation IN your underwear, so put your clothes back on. Security agreed with me. Honestly, underwear? Hate spiral.
We took a couple more runs down the mountain as the blizzard situation continued. We were waiting for the boys to come down the mountain and it seemed like it took forever. Come to find out it’s because Blake decided to take Brandon and AJ down the black diamond slope. Brandon made a valiant effort at snowboarding in general, but he fell about every 2 minutes. AJ had a tendency to fall right in front of me a few times, making me laugh for hours. Point being, not your number one contenders for a black diamond, but they somehow survived. I’m told that AJ sidestepped down the mountain, but I can neither confirm nor deny these reports.
In the end, we all made it off Sugar Mountain alive and I did not fall a SINGLE time. That’s right. Post-marathon legs are strong apparently. I stayed on the blue slopes the whole day. I even tried a few different ones. I didn’t hit any children, Asian or otherwise. I moguled. Maybe it was my new gear. It’s hard to say. Either way, a grandiose time was had by all. WINNING. I’d like to point out that this was a lot more successful than my last trip to North Carolina on about a million levels. Child-size ski gear = good. Taking a picture with every bearded man you see = bad. Words to live by.