- marthastewartweddings.com
In my last post I was preparing for a date-cation with a new man, and a new sport: snow skiing. My preparation was limited to a few lessons on an indoor ramp at Bill Jackson's and a pair of wool socks. My Florida ski instructor did not bother telling me about everything else I would need: long underwear, a ski jacket, a hat, gloves, layers of fleece, something called a neck gator, goggles, and a face protector. Why not just ski in a burka? This list did not even include the skis, poles and horror of horrors — the helmet (thanks a lot Sonny Bono) I would rent in Park City. To me, skiing just seemed like one huge, and every expensive, pain in the ass.
Let's forget about the fact that I had to take out a loan to purchase the necessary gear, and that the only ski jacket left in my size was pea green. Let's not dwell on the fact that once the ski shit was packed, I barely had room for my new jeggings, which drastically reduced the elephantitis-effect of dumpy ski pants. This was going to be fun damn it!
This article appears in Mar 14-20, 2013.