on pretending to know how to ski | the vermont edition

Last weekend, J & I went "skiing" in Vermont.

The thing is, we don't actually know how to ski. In fact, we might be the world's worst skiers. But doesn't that just sound so posh? Oh, we went away for the weekend. Just a little light skiing in Vermont. That sure sounds a lot more luxurious than "Last weekend we went to Vermont. We drank lots of hot chocolate and watched a bunch of other people ski." Which is what we did.

But it was great!
We bundled up, explored the lodge, stomped around in our snow boots (I finally got a pair!), drank roughly 10 gallons of hot chocolate, and enjoyed our first weekend outside of the city. My favorite part was probably watching all the 2 and 3-year-old kids ski down the mountain like a bunch of professionals. That was good for my ego. I think some of them actually flipped us off as they whizzed by.

My actual favorite part was snowmobiling. (Do I look cool or what?)

That was a first for both of us and I'm proud to say that we are much better snowmobilers than we are skiers. We went on a 2-hour tour through the forest, across a frozen lake, and - much to my delight - right past all those 3-year-old punks. "Later, losers!" I yelled as we sped off into the sunset. I mean, it was 11:00am but we sped off nonetheless.

At the beginning of the tour, our guide told us that our snowmobiles could reach a maximum speed of 75mph. Naturally, J managed to get the thing to go 80. He won't admit it, but I'm pretty sure that while we were flying across that frozen lake, he was living out all of his motorcycle dreams. (It's me, or a motorcycle. That's the deal.) Meanwhile, I was wondering what it would be like to be catapulted off of a snowmobile onto a frozen lake. Would it be be better to belly-flop or just break right through the ice? (Hi mom!)

I think we found our new favorite hobby.