Hit The Slopes
Two weeks ago I stood twenty yards away from my flat-on-his back toddler having a massive meltdown. Hollering out in agony, legs kicking, and tears sliding down his face, my son was done with skiing at 8:59am. I wasn't right next to him because I was hovering over our other toddler who was trying desperately to get her three-sizes-too-big ski boot back on her foot so her sock stayed off the wet snow.
Two pandemic years was all it took to forget about the horrors of first time skiing. I grew up skiing, so I'm used to the pain required to get to the pleasure of skis slicing through snow on a gorgeous sunny day and the wind gently whipping at your tail. This foray into beginner territory with our toddlers reminded me of an important lesson: sometimes things start off hard, but they really do get easier. If I was trying to convince someone that ending diets gets easier over time (which is the opposite of every new diet that inevitably gets harder over time), I'd tell them to take up skiing.
Two of our oldest girls and boys were seasoned enough that they could get on their gear, head up the chairlift, swoosh down and be ready for more. Not so much for our newbies. Getting the gear on alone was a massive feat. Once we were buttoned, zipped and layered, we headed to the rental area. When Matt from Brookline saw our crew I said, "sorry, but we have six kids so this might take a while". Not sure what to say, he just looked back at me with glossed over eyes and started clicking away at his computer.
Two trips to the bathroom later, we finally had our boots and skis. Thank God there were no stairs yet. We trudged a short distance through the little town center and started climbing up the hill with 7 sets of skis and 6 kids, two of which were unable to walk on their own because two words: ski boots. Those clunky beasts are something to get used to and your shins never feel the same after a week of skiing. I was smart enough to leave ski boots off so I could manage my bunny hill buddies.
The two youngest kids and I hit the magic carpet. Except there's not much magic in going through a motorized tunnel when your two year old is "standing" with the strength of an overcooked wet noodle and you end up just carrying her, skis and all to the top. Our four year old was slowly getting the hang of french fries and pizza, but preferred the wide pizza slice to avoid becoming the clean up on aisle 5 situation that happened after the third bunny hill venture. Falling as a beginner is tough since it leaves you about as helpless as a newborn baby. When you fall at this age, you're just shouting for help. Period. There's no chance you can untangle your skis, point your skis parallel to the bottom of the hill and hoist yourself up.
Four runs in, we sit at the side of the hill for a snack, because we're all exhausted. They both want to go "home". I try to convince them to take one more "run". They don't quite have the words to say, "you're crazy and I quit!", so they just start crying and take on the form of an octopus who slithers out of your arms and lands into a blob on the hill.
Two hundred years later after I stack our skis on the ski rack, I waddle awkwardly down the stairs sideways while is quite a task while playing catch with our two year old who keeps sliding down my jacket because ski jacket against ski jacket = slip-n-slide. I finally shuffle our crew into the elevator and trek down the long hall to our condo and within minutes we're out of our gear, playing Uno and happy.
Two hours later, we're back at it. These little ones want more. They've fought through the depths and now they're hungry for some speed down the hill.
Two days later we leave our ski hill and the two year old can actually make her way a short distance and the four year old hits his first chairlift which is no small feat to master that feeling of the chair chopping at the back of your knees like your 2nd grade friends used to do on the playground at recess.
Two weeks later, we're planning our ski trips for next year.
It might not happen in twos for you, but over time, you'll find that the end of dieting gets easier as opposed to trying a new diet that you know you can handle for possibly 20 minutes, maybe 2 hours, perhaps 2 days, but definitely not two weeks, 2 months or 2 years.
I'm not gonna lie, it's ugly in the beginning. You feel like a tiger let out of their cage at the zoo. All this freedom yet what the hell am I supposed to do? Where are all the directions? Rules, pease? I need some structure here, people! Once you get over this crazy and shocking notion that there really are no rules around food and that it's up to you to find out what tastes and feels good, things get pretty exciting. You stop obsessing about food and your body and find out that your days aren't structured around a certain plan or number that you have to follow. You actually have time for things that matter.
Pretty soon, your days start to feel like you're flying down the hill with the wind at your back and you feel the sun warming your face. And you don't even need to severely bruised shins to enjoy the experience. Keep your tips up, my friends. The anti-diet ride will leave you feeling like your life is going anywhere but downhill.
