An Appropriate Fall

I didn't sleep very well last night. Earlier in the evening, Annie (our older dog) had gotten into my Christmas stocking and eaten 3/4 of my peanut M&M's, plus part of a hand warmer (I don't know either). Thanks to Google, we learned that to make dogs throw up, you can dose them with peroxide. We did, and she threw up a few times outside before settling down on her pillow in the kitchen to gaze at us with mournful eyes.

I think the reason I didn't sleep well was because I was worried about her.

Anyway, when my alarm went off at 9:30 this morning, I was less than thrilled. In fact, I was downright cranky. Mom, Amy and I were supposed to go cross country skiing in a nearby state park, and this morning, I had absolutely no desire to go.

I had every intention of going back to sleep, when I suddenly had a thought: "you should really go, Hol."
Why should I go?
Because it'll turn out well I think.
Honestly? Right now I'm in no condition to go on some family outing. I'm tired and I'm crabby and I just want to lie in bed and pout for the rest of my life.
Just go please. You won't regret it.
Oh, fine.

So I struggled into my long underwear, wool socks, long-sleeved shirt, snow pants, jacket, hat, mittens, goggles, and boots, and we set off.

Wild Rive State Park is really a beautiful place. Even I admitted that this morning, despite my moody impatience.
We've been going there since I was little. Initially, Amy and I would just sit in our big pink sled, plump with layers, and be dragged through the woods by Mom and Dad. As we got older, though, we'd go there to cross country ski, often going on the special nights when luminaries were lined up along the trails.

It had been a while since I had seen the park, though.
In fact, it had been a while since I had skied period.

Once at the head of the trail, I clipped my boots into my skis easily enough, threading my bulky mittens through the straps on my ski poles expertly.
Amy finally managed to wrestle her own boots into her bindings, and then we started into the woods.

Not 10 feet down the trail however, and still in plain sight of the chalet filled with people, I suddenly lost my balance,
flailed my poles uselessly in the air for a few seconds,
and tipped over backwards
landing flat on my back
in the snow.

Now, still being rather cranky, my first inclination was to just remain on the ground and burst into angry, humiliated tears.
What I did instead was start laughing.
I laughed as Mom stuck her pole in my bindings to release my boots so I could stand
I laughed as Amy retrieved my own poles from where they had landed in the deep snow to my left.
I laughed as I turned to see perfect strangers laughing at me from the warmth of the chalet.

And you know what? I felt better after that.

We skied to the visitor's center to look at the fascinatingly disgusting display of pelts and stuffed birds, and then we skied back to the chalet, where we gathered our stuff and walked out to the parking lot.

I don't think I stopped laughing all day.

Sometimes I think that the reason I'm so painfully, annoyingly, incurably uncoordinated is because it helps me not to take myself so seriously.

Nothing gives you perspective quite like a good fall does.