This past Sunday Jon was still at his ski race, Theo was heading over to a friend's to play, and Eli and I had a nice afternoon in front of us. I would have loved to curl up on the couch with him and read, but I also thought that since it was above 30 and sunny we should probably get our behinds outside for some fresh air. So we packed up our skies and headed over to Theodore Wirth. It was actually his ski lesson time and those lessons do take place at that very same park, but we decided that since all other family members were skipping lessons that Eli should go AWOL as well. We parked in the auxilary lot, away from the prying eyes of ski school volunteers, and suited up. I took him through the woods to the back portion of the park, away from the 170 small skiers working hard at lessons. This trail system is significantly more hilly than anything Eli has tried lately, but he was game.
We had skied the Luminary Loppet on Lake of the Isles the night before (an event you should not miss!) and Eli was passing literary hundreds of people as we shuffled through the throngs of skiers out enjoying the 40 degree temps and the festive atmosphere of the event. So I knew that his speed and skill on the flats was really getting pretty good, but I was worried about the hills. He usually approaches them crouched over, snowplowing, with his poles jammed out front- poking into the snow so as to keep himself under 1 mph for as long as possible. This is far different than Theo's style. That kid, if the slope even appears to be heading downhill, Theo immediatly enters into a tuck, poles clamped under his armpits and eyes wild with anticipated delight. He usually is able to deal with the fact that his 'hill' allowed him to only top out at speeds slightly faster than that off a swift turtle, but sometimes he yells out, demanding we find him a steeper hill. So far, we have declined to meet this demand. Anyway- there I was with Eli at the summit of a somewhat steep, somewhat icy hill on the back 9 at Theo Wirth. And the kid suddenly takes on this indomitable spirit. He loosens up his crouch a little, eases up on the snowplow, only sticks his poles awkwardly into the snow in front of him once or twice, then, to my utmost surprise, lets out a whoop and careens downhill. He is not bothered by the fact that just before it levels out he wipes, sliding in a circle and coming to a rest with his head pointing downhill. He untangles his long limbs from the equipment, staggers up, and strides off, looking for the next hill. As we head out into the woods he tells me, "You know Mom, I think in the last year that might have been my first real wipe out! All the times before that I kind of just toppled because I lacked confidence. I wasn't really falling." I agreed with him and became just a little worried about this new found confidence level. My worries proved justified as we hit the last hill of the day. This is a great long one that just goes and goes and can be pretty easily negotiated if you keep your feet in the tracks. He didn't. About 3/4 of the way down, right when he was topping out at quite an alarming speed, the left leg got away from him. I watched from below as the leg drifted farther and farther- knowing that the toppling point approached. And over he went. Spectacularly. But what do I hear as the dust settles? He's giggling, thrilled at the speed he had just attained and unbothered by the fact that his ski had come around and whacked him on the head, leaving a nice red welt. He was up and heading back to the car, ebullient about his new confidence and the joy of skiing. I can't wait to get out with him again.
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