When I moved to Florida a couple of years ago, single, I kept meeting men for whom only retirement would make life sweeter. That was one of the reasons I fell for my partner: His sense of adventure. And yet, when I approached Paul — a 51-year-old man who works in insurance — about a ski weekend in Vermont, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would he think the travel time, effort and expense exceeded the benefit? After all, he'd never been on skis in his life. To my surprise, delight, and terror, he said yes. And off we went to Stowe.

It's worth noting that I — a 51-year-old writer — am no expert on the slopes. I've been skiing exactly once in the last 15 years. I viewed this escapade as a challenge for both of us. But I have fond memories of skiing with my dad as a teenager. There's nothing like the thrill of controlling your descent as you whoosh down a mountain. That was the wonderment part. The fear was that he wouldn't like skiing.

But I was feeling the call of the wild. We'd just gotten engaged, a second marriage for both of us. Now was not the time for complacency. Also, I hedged my bets.

I got us a room, compliments of the Stoweflake Mountain Resort & Spa (T: @Stoweflake, I: @Stoweflakemtnresort, 746 Mountain Road, 800-253-2232), a resort in the heart of Stowe. The resort was located just far enough off the mountain that if we (he, thought I) couldn't hack the trails, there'd be plenty to do. We could snowshoe, hang out in front of our in-room fireplace, or hop the free shuttle to town. They even had a spa.

One of the first things I noticed was that, having spent his entire adult life in Florida, my partner wasn't particularly skilled at donning snow gear. I am not particularly skilled at patience.

"I didn't realize you weren't right behind me," was a regular refrain of mine, and that was before we got our ski equipment. I feared what this might translate to when we hit the trails, but I was determined we were going to explore new territory, damnit.

Perhaps I should've seen the writing on the wall when I about broke down in tears over my ski boot — I couldn't get the thing on. But I didn't heed the warning. We loaded up our equipment and headed to the mountain.

Stowe consists of two peaks, Mansfield and Spruce. The double black diamond runs on Mansfield loom imposingly as you head in, causing my heart to skip a beat. I figured I'd start with Paul at the gentler Spruce side, then get to the real skiing.

Thankfully, a lesson for novices was starting right away. Unfortunately this was the only lesson available, and it wasn't open to people who'd skied before.

"Just tell 'em you've never skied," Paul suggested.

On this point, however, I was clear.

"I'm not good enough to pretend I don't know how to ski."

And so our together adventure went in separate directions almost immediately. I did accompany him to the lesson pen, where I asked the instructor, Bob, his plan for the day. He pointed to a group of children riding a magic carpet up a mound of snow. "We'll start there, then if we're lucky we'll try that chair lift." Now Bob was pointing at a slightly larger mound. Ugh. "OK, see you later!"

I pushed toward the chair lift Bob had just indicated, wanting to get my bearings on skis again. After a brief scare that I'd fall immediately on getting off the lift, I made my way down without incident. This is no journey, I thought, and pushed my way to the next lift over. You know you're on the bunny slope when you don't gain sufficient speed off the hill to make it to nearby lifts.

As the lift crawled up the new slope, I realized I'd failed to look at a map of the trails. (Here's one, so you don't have to make the same mistake.) Ahead of me, two children skied to the right with an instructor. How hard could that be?

A word of advice, if you're looking for the easy trails, don't follow children. I was immediately plunged into an intermediate run. Worse yet, I had no idea what was coming. It could be worse. I didn't fall so much as crumble, with my legs splitting in separate directions. I heard something in my knee tear and pop, the pain was instant. And I was still at the top of the fucking hill.

I pounded my knee and wailed. The children and their instructor were long gone. In fact, no one was around. There was only way to go, and it was down the mountain. When I finally managed to hoist myself up and back into my skis, I noticed was that the squat position of skiing was not painful, engaging my quads seemed to hold my knee in place. But how was I going to get down without dying?

"When in doubt," I heard my father saying. "SNOWPLOW!"

As it turned out, the other half of the run was green, and so I was easily able to complete the trip. And yet, I realized what an ass I was being by caring more about skiing than my partner. He'd lovingly taken me fishing and kayaking, where his skills far outpaced mine. Never had he left me behind and said, "Good luck with that!" What was I doing?

I went back to the magic carpet and watched Paul coming down the skis. He was really good! I even thought to capture the moment on video.

Bob was moving the crew to the chair lift.

"Come with me?" Paul grinned. I wouldn't miss it.

We skied together for the rest of the trip. I'm glad it didn't take more of an injury to get me to slow down and enjoy the time with Paul, but I"m especially thankful that I have the kind of partner who isn't afraid to let me make mistakes. Even when it means leaving him behind.

It did hold true, my knee felt best when I was skiing. In fact, the skiing was going so well, we could've hit the slopes Sunday before our flight out. But I'd already scored us some massages at the spa, and together, we decided it was best not to push our luck skiing.

As poorly as I prepared in general, I can hardly overemphasize the brilliance of having massages before a long travel day (we'd left Thursday and spent the night in Manhattan in order to get two full days in Stowe). I could've spent an entire day in Stoweflake's glorious facilities, which, besides various scrub and massage treatments, included steam, jacuzzi, and sauna (single sex and co-ed), plus a scale replica of a Stowe waterfall in an aqua solarium. This begs for summer travel, because now Paul pretty much just wants to ski.

Maybe skiing is a lot like falling in love — control is an illusion when you're trying something new. But when you have the chance to work on skills by pacing yourself with a partner, it can be sublime.

Lisa L. Kirchner is the author of the critically acclaimed Hello American Lady Creature: What I Learned as a Woman in Qatar. Her work has appeared in book anthologies, magazines and newspapers including The Washington Post and Salon.com. Celebrity interviews include: Amy Sedaris, Xavier Dolan and John Sayles. At one time she was simultaneously the dating columnist for an alternative newsweekly, bridal editor for a society rag and the religion reporter for a gay and lesbian newspaper. More at lisalkirchner.com.

This article appears in Feb 8-15, 2018.