Ya’ll. There is a reason—a solid, monumental reason—that I am a southern gal.
Last week, a group of us decided to take a 4-hour bus ride to Parnassos, a ski resort in northern Greece. I just want to give props to the people—and by people, I mean the 6 year olds—who were whizzing past me down the mountain while I face planted every 2.7 seconds. Approximately.
I got 1/4 of the way down a blue trail (are they even called trails?!) before I popped my skiis off and walked back to the lodge. Granted it was lunch time and remember, I’m southern. We don’t skip meals.
Lunch in the lodge was excellent. It was warm, there was toasty pizza, and the hot chocolate had just enough ‘froth’ to it. Then we were back outside, rolling down the slopes. (The bunny slopes.)
And I mean I’m not saying this happened, but alright I am—I ran into a fence.
All of this to say, I’ve got to take skiing lessons once I move to Utah. Otherwise, every Ute shall know that I am not a Ute, and the goal is to blend.
For now, I’m sticking to fishin’ and campin’. The way God intended it.