Yes, this is a blog dedicated to the fact that I am 40 and fat. But, I was also fat when I was 38 and 37 and 36 and so on. When I was about to turn 38, my husband asked what it was I wanted for my birthday. In all of my infinite wisdom, I asked for a snowboard.
All of my life I had wanted to try snowboarding. Skiing didn't appeal to me and I had a rather unfortunate experience on skis at around the age of 35. My children were taking skiing lessons and I was stuck at the ski lodge every Tuesday night for 4 hours so I thought I'd give it a whirl. My trip to the rental counter was uneventful until I tried putting the ski boots on. I was huffing and puffing, trying to squeeze my feet into the darn things and had to have someone about the age of 12 help me. After they were strapped on nice and tight, I had to walk to the counter to get the skis. Now, if you ski, you won't be surprised to learn that you have to kind of "lean forward" in order to walk in these death traps. I was, however, surprised. It's uncomfortable, awkward and was making my underworked shins ache and burn. I grabbed the skis, the poles and proceeded out the door and headed up to the instruction hill to meet the poor sap assigned to me as an instructor. It took me awhile to get there. I was bundled up in my snowpants and winter coat newly bought for just this occasion, was wearing a hat and gloves and could barely make it up this tiny little hill without gasping for air ... really cold air. By the time I made it, I was sweating like Whitney Houston on crack (seriously, have you seen her Diane Sawyer interview?), out of breath and felt like I couldn't walk another step because the ridiculous boots were killing me. All of that after only going approximately 20 feet. Now it's important to stress here that I was not meeting my instructor on the bunny hill with the lift and other adult students. I was simply meeting him at the "instruction hill." You know, the one with the magic carpet for the all the toddlers to ride up and learn how to ski? That one. Okay, scene set. My instructor was, I don't know, 16? Took my hand, managed to strap me into my skis, took my hands and was guiding me down the toddler hill. Meanwhile, I'm sweating buckets, my legs are screaming and the last thing I heard was the pimply-faced 16 year old boy say ... "you don't look very well." Down. Like a sack of potatoes. Blacked out and fainted on the toddler hill! I wasn't out for long .. but long enough that he thought he should call the ski patrol to come have a look. On the toddler hill. Can you imagine that call of distress through the walkie talkie? Old woman down on the toddler hill!! We need a medic ... STAT!!! Never to fear dear readers, I'm alive and well and aside from a very bruised ego and becoming a legend among the ski instructors, I'd like you to know that I took those damn boots off, dropped my skis at the rental counter and spent every Tuesday evening in the lodge, reading a book and eating nachos. You might find that story entertaining ... I do. It's funny. I laughed about it the next day and it makes for a great story at parties.
Believe it or not, I have A LOT of stories like this one. One year for my daughter's birthday we were at an indoor water park. I went down a water slide called the "cyclone" where you sit on a small raft and the slide takes you around and around and around and drops you through a hole and into a pool. I got stuck. I did. I literally got stuck on my raft with the suction from the slide pulling me to the side so that I couldn't move. I tried and tried to push away but I couldn't. I panicked. I'm sure I looked ridiculous. I'm sure if you asked someone who was there on this unfortunate day they could tell you I looked ridiculous because apparently there is an observation deck directly above this particular ride where people go to watch riders come down and get dropped through the hole. How do I know this? After they sent my husband down the slide to grab a hold of me and set me free, I promptly returned to our table (to eat nachos of course) and my daughter and her friend came over laughing to tell me that they heard an "old lady" got stuck on the cyclone. Yep. An "old lady." I've never been back.
What does this have to do with snowboarding? Nothing. Just thought I'd share. So, anyhow. My husband obliged me and bought me a great snowboard that was just my style ... white ... painted with a hot pink lipstick and lipstick kiss. I got the boots (which are much more comfortable than ski boots I'll have you know). The snowboarding outfit was not so easy to find. If you've ever seen the X games or watched Shaun White at the Olympics you know snowboarding calls for a "look." Let me tell you something ... that "look" doesn't come with a "W" behind it. So it was off to the men's shop for me. Should have been my first clue that maybe this wasn't for big girls.
My daughter and I dressed in our gear and headed up to the instruction hill for our lesson. Yes, it's the same instruction hill. No I didn't faint. Yes, the instructors are still 16. Anyhow, we made it to the instruction hill and introduced ourselves. A funny thing happened. They were psyched! Like really really psyched that I was taking a lesson. As a matter of fact ... I managed to shake off my skiing disaster and became another kind of legend ... the OLDEST person to ever take a snowboarding lesson at this particular lodge at that particular time. Yes, the OLDEST. At 38 ... I was the OLDEST. And I had only been 38 for like 11 days. Now, I wasn't the oldest snowboarder by any means ... just the oldest to take a lesson. I was actually proud and felt a little cool.
The lesson progressed. I learned how to glide over to the lifts, learned how to balance, how to tip the board to make an edge in the snow in order to slow down or speed up. There were two things, however, that I could not learn. (1) how to get up after being strapped in; and (2) how to glide from side to side while going down the hill.
I quickly graduated from the instruction hill and went to the bunny hill. I managed to get on an off the lift with no incident. I glided over to where I could safely sit and strap my other foot into the board. After that moment, my instructor said, "Now hop up." What??? "Hop up." I'm sorry? "You know, hop up." Yea, that wasn't going to happen. There was no way this ass was getting off that ground by "hopping" straight up onto my feet. So, since necessity is the mother of invention, I had to invent my own technique ... I call it the "beached whale." The beached whale is tricky. You strap yourself into your board which is long and kind of wide. Then, with all of your might you turn over so your butt is facing down the hill and then push as hard as you can with your arms so you are upright. It's attractive. You can ask my daughter. But it is effective. The biggest flaw in this technique is that once you are up, you are not facing the bottom of the hill. You have to turn and as I mentioned earlier, I wasn't much of a turner and could not glide from side to side. So, I invented another technique ... super fast. Which basically means you get your fat ass turned around and point the nose of your snowboard to the bottom of the hill and go straight down, as fast as you can until you fall or stop by the grace of God before hitting the fence.
I had fun. I snowboarded for the whole of that winter. I had some pretty unintentional "gnarly" crashes that earned "oooo's and aaaaa's" from bystanders. I had a ball. And I never once left the bunny hill. Most of my companions were of the elementary age. I didn't care. I have since retired from my snowboarding career and my neighbor's daughter is enjoying my fancy white board and is much better suited for it than I ever was.
My point (and I do have one) is that I may be aging and I may be fat. However, I have never allowed either factor to stand in the way of something it is I have wanted to do. Never. I ride the tallest, fastest roller coasters I can find ... hands up and laughing the whole way. I have wake boarded in the ocean, snorkled with the sea turtles and hiked through the rainforest. Well, the hiking thing wasn't exactly something that I wanted to do. It was something I had to do because my husband and children wanted to. I now refer to it as my Biggest Loser challenge. It was Hell.
I have done all of these things and I have loved them. Even when it was a disaster. I loved them because I tried. And that's all any of us can do ... part of enjoying life is trying to do things we can't and finding out that we really can. Maybe we can't do them well ... but we can do them.
The thing is ... had I been healthier and more fit than fat, I could have done these things better. I may have enjoyed them even more. My husband and children are athletic and fit and I may participate in all of the activities they do but it takes me longer .. I slow them down.
My daughter and I have always wanted to go parasailing. We want to do it together. On a recent trip to Hawaii we planned on doing it. Unfortunatley, we couldn't because with my weight being what it is, we exceeded the limit and couldn't go as a twosome. She didn't want to go without me. We went whale watching instead. This Spring, come Hell or high water, I'm going to go parasailing with her. I've never let my weight stop me from doing something I've wanted to before and I'm not going to let it stop me now.
So, do me a favor. Make a list of everything that you've always wanted to do but were too scared or embarrassed to try. Then make a pact with yourself that this is going to be the year you give it a try. Please share it with me. And do it even if you look ridiculous. Who cares? Live the life you have right now to its fullest. It's a blast.
See you on the bunny hill ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
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