I was almost 30. My mother had taken my son to ski over Christmas break the year before and he begged me to come this time. My first experience downhill skiing was a disaster (below if you're interested) so I wasn't too keen on freezing while throwing myself off a mountain. But I loved my little boy, so I went. My Mom did the best thing. She borrowed a friend's condo and enrolled us all in a ski-week at Vail. I was hooked by day 2. My son won all the "ankle biter cup" races he skied in that year, and we have been sliding on snow together every since. (he's 42 now!)
Disaster
In my yoot, we used to cross-country in the Russian pine and birch forests. On old wooden skis with spring heel bindings in our regular felt and rubber snow-boots. One winter my parents let my sister and me accompany them on their ski outing to Gstaad, Switzerland, where my godmother lived. They went off to shush and left us with a friend of theirs who said he could teach us how to ski. His idea of this was to take us to the top of the mountain (probably not the top, but sure seemed that way to me) on the lift. He pointed down the run (couldn't see the bottom) and said "ski down there." My dutiful older sister obliged and proceeded to flail and crash and fall repeatedly until out of sight, crying all the while. I refused, and had to be taken down in a toboggan. Didn't downhill again until I took my son to Ski Roundtop in PA for a day on the bunny slope prior to his trip West with Grandma.
Disaster
In my yoot, we used to cross-country in the Russian pine and birch forests. On old wooden skis with spring heel bindings in our regular felt and rubber snow-boots. One winter my parents let my sister and me accompany them on their ski outing to Gstaad, Switzerland, where my godmother lived. They went off to shush and left us with a friend of theirs who said he could teach us how to ski. His idea of this was to take us to the top of the mountain (probably not the top, but sure seemed that way to me) on the lift. He pointed down the run (couldn't see the bottom) and said "ski down there." My dutiful older sister obliged and proceeded to flail and crash and fall repeatedly until out of sight, crying all the while. I refused, and had to be taken down in a toboggan. Didn't downhill again until I took my son to Ski Roundtop in PA for a day on the bunny slope prior to his trip West with Grandma.