IN THEIR BOOTS

So the bucket ski.....or more properly known as the sit-ski....

Here is how it goes down. I meet my two coaches and they run me through the program. They tell me how my legs will be tied together and my arms will act as my legs. They tell me about how to get on the chairlift, which as I said before, makes me want to vomit. Noticing my cowardice, one of the coaches assures me I have nothing to worry about, that I'll be hooked to the lift; so even if I did fall out there would be a rope to keep me from plummeting to my death below. Sure I'd be dangling 50 feet in the air in a bucket, but he said I'd be safe. I only sort of believed him, but I decided to let the teaching begin.

They both ran me through a quick course on a dry platform before heading to the lift: Tuck my head if I fall. Don't lean too far to either side. Allow my arms to steer. Keep my head up. Look down the mountain, not at my hands, and don't be afraid!

With that, they pushed me out on the snow. There was no turning back. One skied beside me and the other was attached with tethers behind me to help guide me down the slopes. Off we went to the ski lift.

Okay, the truth is the ski lift was fun! I actually felt secure in my bucket. Once we reached the top of the mountain I was safely lifted off the chair and away we went.

Skiing is hard! Skiing in a bucket and using your arms is even harder!! Two minutes in, my upper body started to burn and I asked if I could fall (I told my coach I wanted to know what it felt like to try and get up), but the truth was I just wanted a break. As I'm "practicing" getting up, other sit-skiers were flying past me. At one point some coaches and an injured veteran asked if I was okay, which was a little embarrassing. So I pushed myself up and gave the let's go sign. I actually started to get the hang of it and before long the coach that was tethered behind me skied up beside me to let me know he wasn't holding on. Realizing this I immediately fell. But I got back up and kept going. 

The mountain was amazing. My coaches were amazing. I felt amazing.

When I got to the bottom, I was pushed to the unloading dock, where all the injured athletes get out of their sit-skis and into their wheelchairs. I got out of mine and looked around. I would be lying if I didn't tell you there was a moment where I didn't want to get out. I didn't want them to see I could walk. That's when I remembered a certain voice, "I do things here normal people wouldn't even try," Alan Babin had said the day before. It was true. And because of him and the other athletes, I conquered my fear and developed a deeper understanding of the true athleticism it takes to be a disabled athlete. But, I have to say, I didn't fully feel it until the next morning...when I woke up and couldn't move my arms.