Skiing, Not Again MAG

By Unknown, Unknown, Unknown

   I dread skiing, but every weekend in winter my mother and father insist on taking the tiring, four-hour drive up to Killington, Vermont to stay at our ski club, River Hills. Believe me, it is not worth the time. I would much rather stay at home. I have been skiing since I was three or four years old, and I am sick of it, especially since my parents want to go every weekend. Yuck!

A day of skiing with my parents goes as follows:

"Rise and shine, sweetie. Let's hit the slopes!"

"Let's not," I mumble underneath my sleeping bag.

"What did you say, honey?"

"Nothing, Mom," I try to say as sweetly as possible, but at six-thirty on a Saturday morning, that's the best I can do.

"Get ready. See you down at breakfast."

I cannot understand how someone can be so enthusiastic about being outdoors when the temperature is 30E below zero. Slowly, I mean very slowly, I get dressed. Hoping for a cheerful temperature, I look outside at the thermometer, and find it's 10E below. I never did like negative numbers, in math or skiing; they are so tough to deal with.

At breakfast, I try to keep my conversations going for as long as possible to delay us. Unfortunately my mom realizes what I am doing, and tells me to hop in the car.

We're off! Oh boy, this will be real fun! Our first run is okay, but my body is only half frozen. I can't move my numb hands or wiggle my toes. On the chair lift ride, I picture a sunny beach, a blazing fire, a cozy bed, and as I begin to get the blood circulating again, it's time to get off the chair. After the fourth or fifth run, you can find me in the lodge. I am either guy-watching or warming near the fire.

After our lunch break, my goal is to ski until the lifts close at 3: 30, but I know I can't hold out that long. This time on the chair lift, I try to think of a good excuse that will put me back at the lodge. Should I break my leg or lose my ski? Nah, I don't want to be punished. Oh, I'll just be a good little girl for my parents and ski, but when 3: 30 comes, I'm outta here.

So, by now you have probably guessed how much I love skiing. Oh, and when I'm twenty, you can find me in sunny Mexico. n

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