So, Matt and I just got back from having a BLAST in Colorado! This was my first time actually skiing somewhere that wasn't on the East coast. Wow. Different. But WAY fun! I think I had this secret fear that I would end up spending the entire trip on the little bunny slope. You know, the one that pulls you up on that little rope thing. Thank the Lord I took to it pretty quickly and actually skied mostly blues (and even a few blacks! WHOO!)
It was such an amazing, romantic and adventure-filled trip! However, Matt and I did have one interesting moment that will be placed lovingly in my "mental-scrapbook". It was the third day of the vacation and I was really starting to feel confident. Maybe even a little cocky. I mean, this skiing thing was FUN! We had decided to do one last run before lunch, and Matt suggested doing a black to take us toward our condo. Now, it should be mentioned that Matt has been skiing since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. He's good at it. Really good. I didn't even know about ski school, which is where around 20 or so three year-olds are put in skis while an instructor tries to keep them from falling off of the mountain. Me, trusting wife that I am, assumed he would never suggest I try something that he didn't think I could handle. And surely he had a better handle on what I was ready for than I did.
He then tells me that this run (that's a black-remember?) has these things called moguls. No big deal he says, "just ski around them." Sounded easy. Nope. First mogul and I'm on my butt. I struggle to my feet (which is difficult given the 85 degree slope) and try again. I pick up a bit more speed this time, which really adds to the awesomeness when I wipe out. This time I lose both poles and one ski. Matt skis up behind me to help me up and all I can think about is how many more falls it'll take before I reach the bottom and how it's All. His. Fault. Not to mention how embarrassing it is to be experiencing this while these graceful, Olympic skiers are all flying around me. So, like any prideful 3 year old, I snatch my poles from him, get my ski on, grit my teeth and basically have a "temper-tantrum-ski-fit". That's basically a vicious cycle of collecting my skis, struggling up, propelling myself down the hill, then completely wiping out. Each time getting more and more furious, more and more exhausted and letting the four letter words fly at an increasing rate and decibel level. I mean, at one point I actually punched the mountain. Yes. That's right. Punched the mountain.
FINALLY, after probably around 20 minutes (seriously) I got past the moguls and managed to ski down the rest of the mountain. Legs shaking, face burning and giving Matt the all out silent treatment. I mean it was All. His. Fault.
However, on the trek back I started to reflect on my behavior and had that sickening realization. You know the one. The one where you start thinking "I was...wrong." Dang. I HATE being wrong. It wasn't Matt's fault. And not only that, but while he was trying to help me, I had pretty much decided to push him off the mountain. AND not only that, but I had pitched a fit. I mean a full-blown-two-year-old-worthy-temper-tantrum. So during lunch I did what any other prideful person would do. I slid him little glances. Small smiles. And then he did something that reminded me why I am so in love with this man. He let it go. He didn't make me apologize, or chastise me for being a TOTAL brat. He didn't even try to reenact how I looked punching the mountain. He held my hand and we finished lunch. Thank God I married a man who will be my best friend, when it would be so easy to be the scorekeeper instead. I am constantly learning and evolving into a better person through watching his love for me.
Now for the evolution of my husband! See, Matt decided to grow a beard before our trip so that he could get away without wearing a full face mask. I've never really liked beards, but Matt's was downright sexy~! I kind of miss it...But we had a GREAT time shaving it off!
I love this man :-)