I love to travel. Anywhere and everywhere, I love exploring new places and throwing myself out of my comfort zone. Obviously right now, the biggest jump I've made out of my comfort zone is sitting in a different spot on the couch. Alas, I used to be adventurous.
My adventures are usually a combination of amazing and why does this always happen to me, so I end up with a mixed bag of memories and quite a bit of blog material. Unfortunately, the real issue is probably that my response to the strange encounters in my life is, well, not the best. I don't say or do what a normal, rational person would say or do in those moments, so I fling myself into an unwarranted and unnecessary hardship others would easily avoid. At the pit of the mess I helped create, I find humor (usually much later), and share it with all of you. This story, however, is a bit different in that my response didn't actually worsen the situation; the situation, quite literally, kept getting worse.
As a preface, the trip had a lot of great moments, but we're here to laugh at my luck, so we're going to dive into the unfortunate ones. To set the scene, there are two couples and two single people on this trip (I am one of the single ones, if that was not glaringly obvious). One of my best friends and her husband (I have become quite the third wheel to them over the years) planned this trip to Colorado for skiing/snowboarding and general shenans. We had a great Airbnb picked out with 3 bedrooms and a pull out couch in the living room to fit all of us (the other single person was a dude, so pairing us off wasn't an option). But the trouble began.
A few days before our trip we find out that somehow the wrong Airbnb was reserved, and we actually have a 2 bedroom. For 6 people. At this point in my life, I am totally fine with spending more money to fit people comfortably in a space. No need to cram 15 people in a room so we only pay $4 each; I will gladly pay my share to sleep in a bed and not fight off 10 other people for a bathroom. Gladly. So this wasn't the best news because this meant either a couple was splitting up, or I was paired off with the other single guy in the living room. To add insult to injury, one of the bedrooms had bunk beds, which meant a couple was crammed into the slightly larger lower bunk, or god forbid, I am sleeping on the top bunk with a couple below me. Thankfully (for me), my friend and her husband decided to split up, with him and the single guy sharing the living room and my friend and I in a bed together.
The day arrives and my friend, her husband, and I fly into Denver and rent a car to Steamboat, picking up our ski equipment on the way. We leave it in the car since we would just have to pack it up again the next morning, and head inside to get settled. The rest of the group meets us there, and my friend's husband takes the pool/hot tub key to go in search of the amenities while the rest of us unpack our suitcases and groceries. A little while later, he returns, but without the amenities key. He had lost it in the snow somewhere around the amenities or on the way back to our room. Bummer, but oh well. It was a lot colder than I had anticipated, and walking in a swimsuit in this weather was no longer on the top of my wish list. We're all tired and ready for bed, so we tuck in for the night, not knowing what kind of disaster was waiting for us the next day.
We wake up and get ready, excited for our first day on the mountain, when my friend comes back into our room fresh with seething rage. I find out that her husband has also lost our car keys, and the car is locked so we cannot get to our equipment. We spend the next hour searching every tiny corner of the Airbnb, and then out into the walkway and parking lot to dig through as much snow as we can. The rest of the group goes ahead to the mountain while we stay behind to search.
He calls a locksmith to unlock the car so we can at least get our gear and salvage what we can of the day pass, while we continue the search through the snow until they arrive. Due to the make of the car, it is nearly impossible to open the car without the keys. But because these guys are saints, after a few hours they finally break in. We grab our gear and arrive at the mountain with only a few hours left until lifts close, but that's better than nothing (if only I knew).
We get in line for the lift and as our turn approaches and I sit on the chair, one of my skis fell off. The guy who works the lift turns into the javelin White Walker and tosses the ski up to me as we are whisked up the mountain. I catch it, thinking it's my lucky day (LOL) when I realize I can't put it on until we get off the lift. This is going to require the lift to stop, because I am not coordinated enough to get off a ski lift wearing only one ski, trying to carry the other. We slow as we approach the stop, and I hold up my one free hand in the "stop" sign, holding up my ski in the other hand, hoping the lift worker will stop the lift so I can exit safely. But this is me, so of course that doesn't happen. What happens next is probably top 5 embarrassing moments for me, so buckle up.
The lift does not stop, so I try my best to ski away balanced on one leg, holding my poles and free ski. I am not normally a super coordinated person, I didn't play sports (well), so I should have known this was about to tank. Big. A few seconds into my attempt at one legged skiing I fall over, my poles and free ski and gloves flying everywhere. And because I still have a ski attached to one of my feet, I fall into this weird kind of sitting/kind of hunched over position, which blocks the lift from passing me. So now I'm being mauled by the lift seat as it tries to pass over me and cannot, over and over and over.
The guy working the lift is yelling at me to get out of the way, and YEAH I WOULD ACTUALLY LOVE TO BE OUT OF THE WAY. I'm fumbling with the attached ski, trying to get it off my foot so I can stand up and walk away, but the anxiety is too overwhelming and the lift chair keeps knocking me over. I then try to crab walk out of the lift's way (this one was totally on me), but my core strength cannot sustain it. I then do what I do in these situations, and just sit down and start laughing. The guy working the lift THEN decides to stop the lift and come over to me to assist. He, quite literally, drags me to the side while telling me I need to get out of the way. I'm astonished. Did he not see me, though poorly, trying my best to move? I'm now laughing purely to stop myself from crying.
I manage to get off my other ski and walk down to where my friend and her husband are waiting (along with a crowd that had been watching me). I put back on the ski and then attempt the one that fell off. It's not clicking into place. What the hell. I try over and over again, with passerbys telling me to do it harder. THIS IS AS HARD AS I CAN SLAM MY FOOT DOWN, NOW PLEASE GO AWAY. I am one second away from a complete meltdown but am attempting to keep it together for the sake of the kids present.
I can't contort myself into a position to see anything, so my friend inspects my ski, with my boot halfway into place, to see if there's anything wrong. She doesn't see anything, so I take off the other ski and make my way back to the jerk, I mean, lift worker. He tells me I can't ride the lift down, so my best bet is to hike down, and then he says, I SH*T YOU NOT, it's not that hard. If you've ever walked on NORMAL PAVEMENT in ski boots, you know the level of difficulty that is already present. Now add HIKING DOWN A SNOWY MOUNTAIN, holding ALL OF YOUR GEAR, in these DEATH TRAPS and you've got yourself a survivor style challenge. I tell my friend and her husband to go on without me, I have to hike down and see if the ski repair shop can help me.
I start making my way down, heel-toe heel-toe, and it doesn't take long for my breath to become ragged and the sweat to start dripping from my forehead. I am having to go carefully, as the way I have to walk in these is not conducive to walking downhill. I'm one misstep away from flying head first down the mountain. I'm about halfway down when the body pain starts to set in. Not only is downhill walking hard, but it's in so much snow. I'm practically doing high knees in a sweatsuit. With a very intrigued audience.
I can feel sobs stirring in my chest, my eyes are blinking back tears, and I keep telling myself that I looooove to hike, remember? I enjoy this. This is practice. I'm mentally crossing off hiking as a hobby as I finally reach the bottom and make my way to the repair shop.
The guy at the desk is super friendly, but the fright in his eyes as he looked at me let me know all I needed to know about how I looked. He tests the skis and everything checks out. He can't find anything wrong. He sees a strap on my boot hanging low, and tucks that away, stating that was the likely culprit of my boot not clicking into place. But there HAS to be something wrong with the ski. I didn't just hike down a mountain to be told I forgot to strap in one of my boots in the morning nightmare. I had my friend looking at my boot, there was NO WAY this was the issue. If I get back on the ski lift and this happens again, I'm going to have to hike back down the mountain of death and I WILL NOT DO IT.
Sobs start to escape me, but I'm trying to hold them in, so it sounds like a water-logged goose having a panic attack. I'm stammering "I can't go back" like I'm some sort of escaped prisoner, when he comes around the desk and leads me to a chair. He sits me down and tells me to take off my coat, helmet, and gloves to cool myself down. God, I must be absolutely drenched. I take them off and instantly feel better, like I'm no longer a little sausage suffering in it's casing.
He bends down and starts cuffing my pants, telling me I may not look as fashionable but it's what all the professional skiers do so not to worry, that this will help me see my boots better when trying to snap on the skis. He's talking in a really calming voice, like he knows, and I know, I'm about to freaking lose it. He brings me some water and tells me I can sit here as long as I like. I was on the verge of tears because of the events of the day, but now I'm on the verge of tears because this man is SO NICE. I'm gripping the water cup like it's the one thing keeping me tethered to sanity, as I slowly sip and let myself cool off. I happened to see my reflection in a mirror and WOW I look like some sort of terrified animal that was beaten and rescued. GET IT TOGETHER, KEANA.
I take a few deep breaths and text my friend that I'm back in action. By now, she's had a few runs down the mountain and is ready for a break at the bar, and honestly, I could use a drink. At the bar I down two White Russians, which, if you know me, means that I'm feeling pretty good. We head to the lift and I'm hoping beyond hope that I don't have to go through round two of the trauma. Luckily, the nice man at the repair shop was right, and I didn't experience another issue with my skis. I was able to do a few runs on the baby green before the lifts closed, which wasn't ideal, but I was calling a win at this point.
Dinner that night was at a fancy little place, and because my taste in food is much like a toddler's, I chose the one thing on the menu that seemed fairly straight-forward. It was pork belly and quinoa, which isn't a food favorite of mine, but seemed like it could be alright. Food is served, and I'm not joking you, my food could fit into my mouth in two bites. The portion is so. small. I cut it into extremely small pieces so it can seem like more than it is, but I finally have a reason to be thankful for my extreme snacking I did before dinner. We all choose to go to bed early that night instead of doing any drinking or hanging out, which is much needed after the day we've had.
Waking up the next day there's a renewed sense of optimism. Today will be better than yesterday! It has to be. We are walking down the walkway towards the shuttle when I notice some keys hanging off of a metal post. I'm trying not to get too excited that maybe those are our missing keys, so I casually ask "Are those keys on the post?" My friend runs towards them, grabs them, shrieks in excitement, and runs back towards the house. They were the missing keys! No need for a tow truck, after all. The day is obviously going to be amazing.
We decide to get off the lift farther up the mountain today, and do a run all together. One of the girls in the group had never skied before, and had never been past the first stop on the lift before...and none of us remembered to warn her to keep her poles up so they didn't get caught between the lift chair and the concrete of the landing. We hear a sudden, loud scraping of metal and a small scream come from our friend. She pulls up the tops of her ski poles and we see two badly mangled and bent pieces of metal. Yes, this seems more like the trip I was expecting after yesterday.
We get off at the next stop and assess the damage, when one of the poles gives in and just snaps in half. The mangled piece falls to the ground, and now she has one bent pole and one half pole. We notice a trashcan with a bunch of mismatched poles sticking out of it, and so very luckily she finds one that matches her height so she doesn't have to ski down the mountain with only one, very bent, pole. All things considered, the day was still going better than the day before (at least for me...I thought).
We are skiing greens because several of us are still beginners, and we come to a halt at a strange intersection. We have to cross a blue in our path in order to continue the green on the other side. Since we had stopped to determine what to do, we had lost all of our momentum. This meant we had to try and ski across a downward sloping blue from a completely halted position. Apparently, this was only difficult for me.
I got about halfway across when I came to a stop, and started sliding sideways down the blue. There are skiers flying all around me, and I'm trying desperately to continue to walk/ski towards the other side. I'm starting to sweat again, trauma from yesterday haunting every step. I am now too far down to be able to go straight across, I have to go UP.
I feel like I'm wall climbing with a pick ax as I stick my poles above me and try to pull my body weight up the mountain. I am not loving the new holiday weight. It takes me what seems like an hour to move a few steps. My friends are cheering me on from the other side (probably gettin' real sick of having me around) but I am pushing that embarrassment aside to make room for my p a n i c k i n g. If I lose my grip, I'm going to slide too far down this blue to be able to recover. I'll have to ski the blue the rest of the way by myself. On the other hand, it's going to take me the rest of the day just to get across to the other side at this rate. I feel the sobbing creeping back into my chest, I'm overheated, I'm exhausted, I'm embarrassed, and I'm completely sober which is regrettable right now.
I know I can't make it much longer, so I hang on for dear life with one of my poles and use the other pole to unlatch my boots from my skis. It WORKED. I grab my skis, and hike the rest of the way to my friends, where I put my skis back on. We continue down the mountain without another incident and decide to do another run. But the run came through that blue death trap again. I see it as we're approaching and I'm cursing so many curse words as I feel tears slowly forming in my eyes. I think maybe if I don't stop at the crossing, I just use as much momentum as I can to fly across, and hope to God I don't collide with a skier, that I'll make it to the other side. But I am wrong.
I make it a little farther than I did the first time, and slowly start sliding down that cursed blue again. This time, I don't waste any effort trying to pull myself across with my poles. I stab my pole into the snow, unlatch my boots with my other pole, and do the walk of shame to the other side. AGAIN. My last shred of dignity is gone. I am but a hollow shell of who I once was. We make it to the bottom, I head to the bar, and I call it. I am well beyond done. And I look it, too.
That night we drink, and I mean we DRINK, and head to dinner. It may be the alcohol talking, but that was the best burger I've ever had. We stumble, by complete accident, across the Guinness World Record Firework (which was actually insanely cool) and head home. The next day the other single guy decided to end his trip early, so now I'm finishing out the trip as a 5th wheel. I don't even have the energy to be disturbed by this news. Thankfully, my friend decided against skiing again so we walked around the town visiting various stores until it was time for our group trip to the hot springs.
Once there, the weight of the 5th wheel situation fully sinks in. The couples are, well, coupled up, and I'm chillin' by myself in the mist, just trying to not make awkward eye contact with anyone. That night we head to the Airbnb to finally play games, except...there's now an odd number of us. They do their best to not make me feel left out, but at this point, I'm perfectly content sipping my white claw from the comfort of a bed. The next day we drive back to Denver for our flight and do a tour of the Coors brewery on our way, and the thumbnail picture for this blog is the great picture snapped when the photographer told us to "pretend to be cold and cuddle up." Ah yes, the sweet embrace of myself.
This trip was much like Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, except it wasn't fiction, and I was the star. There were plenty of times in between the chaos that were great and so much fun, which is why I can look back at this trip and think WOW what a ride. And now, here we are in quarantine just a few months later, and I'd gladly hike down a snowy mountain in ski boots choking back sobs if it meant I could do what I love again.
Perspective is what makes my strange happenings a funny tale to tell, so I hope one day we will all look back at this time and think "Man, remember that time we couldn't leave our houses and we all became way too invested in the big cat industry?" Wild.
At some point this time of our lives will be a story, too. So keep hiking, one heel-toe at a time, and hopefully soon, we'll all meet at the bar at the bottom.
xoxo,
Bold Babe