The evening of December 10th, my mom prevailed. Whether she won the war due to my being the weaker species or that I had no fight left in me, may be something I'll never know. All that matters is we finally put an end to the back and forth vacation dialog and settled on a location to visit. It wouldn't have been my first choice... heck, it probably wouldn't have been my fifth, but the thought of filling up one more night with seemingly endless destination searches exhausted me.
She wanted to go skiing, to spend a winter holiday doing a winter sport. Fair enough... except, skiing is not my thing. Nor is snowboarding for that matter. I tremble just thinking about going down tree lined mountains at high speeds with little children of no more than 5 years of age speeding past from every angle.
My mom would repeat the following phrase at least twice a day, from the moment she picked me up at the train station in Germany until all chances were lost: "You should give skiing a try, Claire. You may find that you like it." As many times as she would state it, I'd reply, "Mom, seriously... please listen this time. I've gone skiing and snowboarding before. I didn't really like it then, and I'm pretty sure 'giving it another try' won't change my mind this time around either." Truth be told, my main dislike is what has inevitably happened each time I've left the slopes: feeling like an old woman, with a twisted knee here and a hurt back there. I could visualize myself this time, exclaiming like one of the elderly in the commercials that aired in the '90's, "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"
Like I stated before, however, as little interest I had in spending the holiday in an alpine village, on December 10th it was settled. So, after confining myself in my mother's kitchen for two days, catering Christmas feasts, we left for Val Cenis in the French Alps.
She wanted to go skiing, to spend a winter holiday doing a winter sport. Fair enough... except, skiing is not my thing. Nor is snowboarding for that matter. I tremble just thinking about going down tree lined mountains at high speeds with little children of no more than 5 years of age speeding past from every angle.
My mom would repeat the following phrase at least twice a day, from the moment she picked me up at the train station in Germany until all chances were lost: "You should give skiing a try, Claire. You may find that you like it." As many times as she would state it, I'd reply, "Mom, seriously... please listen this time. I've gone skiing and snowboarding before. I didn't really like it then, and I'm pretty sure 'giving it another try' won't change my mind this time around either." Truth be told, my main dislike is what has inevitably happened each time I've left the slopes: feeling like an old woman, with a twisted knee here and a hurt back there. I could visualize myself this time, exclaiming like one of the elderly in the commercials that aired in the '90's, "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!"
Like I stated before, however, as little interest I had in spending the holiday in an alpine village, on December 10th it was settled. So, after confining myself in my mother's kitchen for two days, catering Christmas feasts, we left for Val Cenis in the French Alps.
1 comment:
I'm with you on the skiing/snowboarding thing. I always end up in pain and really cold and wet. But, if I had the chance to go in the French Alps? I may revisit the issue. You could just hang out in the lodge sipping hot chocolate and then when some hottie snowboarder asks why you're not out there, tell him you're waiting for the right teacher...
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