So, I knew I was pregnant, but had only known for a week or so, and was only like four or five weeks along (using the crazy pregnancy calendar where you count the first two weeks of your cycle where you're actually not pregnant at all?!--confusing). Basically, I was going home to ski, and didn't want a little thing like being barely pregnant to get in the way (sorry baby). Besides--I was going to be super careful, and it was the only time I was going to be able to ski ALL YEAR (and the sacrifices begin...).
Aw, look at how cute we all are--and awesome mountain in the background!!
The first day, we all skied Alta. Dad had a HI-larious fall where he took off first while Rachel and I stood watching--he did a face plant and proceeded to slide down the mountain on his stomach, face first, unable to stop. It took Rachel and me a full 5 minutes to stop laughing and be able to breathe, after we made sure he was OK of course.
Then, in an open glade on the back side of the mountain, we were all cruising to the bottom of a bowl and Rachel took a tumble. Dad missed it, but she kicked up quite a bit of snow, did a flip/cartwheel, and ate it. I got a pretty good chuckle out of the deal.
I did not fall. Mission: accomplished.
Second ski day, Dad and I went to Snowbird, my fav. After our first run, we notice a few skiers making their way down the Road to Provo, which leads to a bowl at the top of the mountain that was untracked--it hadn't been open in weeks, and there was fresh powder to be had. Clearly, we had to check it out. Immediately.
So, we trekked all of the way over to the run, turned the skis down, and let them ride. It was beautiful.
Until I got to the bottom. Seeking a few more turns in the good stuff, I hung left. Dad stayed in the middle and made his way back to the lift (in retrospect, that was a good idea). I took a small breather, then went for my last powder shot of the run. I made a few turns, then saw a clump of snow that looked like the perfect place for a turn--I hit the clump and ATE IT. I double ejected--both skis off. One came off in the clump (which must have been avalanche debris, and not the soft clump of snow I thought, but instead a hard, icy ball of crash), I flipped, and the other ski shot off of my foot like a javelin, landing about 30 feet in front of me. I was a little bit dazed, and a little bit whip-lashed from my flip. I was also COVERED in snow--and I'm sure anyone standing above me got a really good laugh from my fall. So, I picked up the pieces, gathered my skis, dusted myself off and skied to the bottom. One look at my snow-covered self, and my dad was laughing.
So, I felt badly--I had been trying to be soooo careful. But, seriously--where and when I fell was probably the best possible situation I could have asked for. It was soft snow (except for the clump), I wasn't hurt, didn't jab my midsection with a pole, my skis came right off...but still, I was a little bit concerned. So we get on the lift, and out of the blue my dad asks if I'm pregnant yet. Really? What are the chances?! So, I reply with something coy like, I don't know, not yet--but if I am, hopefully it held on for the ride! To which my dad replied--oh, I'm sure it did. And if it didn't, you wouldn't want it anyway (he KIDS baby--already trying to toughen you up!).
So, that's my story. No ill effects from the fall, and definitely got the morning sickness thing going on--so things are progressing!
(in other news from that ski trip, the last run of the day we decided to drop over the back into Mineral Basin to check out the snow. Turned out, it was AWESOME, too good to hit only once, so we decided to have a second last run of the day. That time down, my binding BREAKS--literally, it falls off. I have to make my way down half of the mountain on one ski, and part of that gliding on one ski, leaning on Tom--then I got to ride the tram down, so I got a gorgeous view of the mountain as we rode down into the valley. Oh, our skiing adventures!!)
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