Hitting the Mountain. Hard.

We went snowboarding today. For some reason I have wanted to get up there on that mountain ever since I quit my job.
As we rounded the last couple of curves before turning into the parking lot, I sunk into my seat and thought what was I thinking? But of course by then it was much too late to chicken out. We had a babysitter, we had all the gear, we were there. So I pushed thoughts of death and avalanches out of my mind and smiled and acted brave. Like I was so ready for this big mountain.
The day was beautiful, clear, sunny. The mountain was white and quiet. We were (seriously) the first ones on the lift. The solitude of the mountain on that first run was one of the highlights for me. I don't get out into nature enough, especially in winter, and seeing how majestic and still everything was put me in awe as I rode up on that cold black chair.
I managed to get off the lift without falling on my butt and stopping the whole operation (done that--it's about as humiliating as having your pants fall off) and we were off. Joey was...Joey: calm, teaching, explaining, easily frustrated when I would disregard his (good) advice. Get down. Bend your knees. Lean into the mountain.
SPLAT! ouch.
I finally started to try and really listen. I knew if I wanted to learn to actually ride down the mountain and not just slide on the back edge the whole way I would have to fall a couple of times. The risk paid off; I only fell a couple of times before I got the feeling of turning towards the mountain, and then back away from it.
I got the hang of it really fast.
And then I hit my head. Sitting on my butt I shook my head and made sure my sunglasses and hat were still around, and then I just sat there and I really wanted to cry. Joey came down and told me I should get out of the middle of the run. We inched over to the side and I swear I wanted it to be four o'clock right then. It was about nine.
On our break, Joey decided I should be the one wearing the helmet. I took it willingly. The next couple of runs were a little shaky. I forgot how much concentration snowboarding takes. The second I stopped thinking (OK, saying out loud) This way.....Now bend...and back this way...I was on my butt.
I finally found a really easy, really slow run in the back that I could practice my turns. I wouldn't say it was anything like flying down the mountain, it was more like a Sunday stroll, relaxing. I never passed anyone. In fact, at one point a man said to me, On your right. First time snowboarder coming through. And then he and his "first time snowboarder" made their way around me. That made me feel about forty five years old.
I think Joey was about ready to run himself into a tree to be put out of his misery. I told him he could go do his own thing, so he did. I was really OK with that, surprisingly.
We left early, but I was wasted. My legs were shot, like old rubber bands about to snap. They burned like fire too. They are still burning.
When I got home and laid down all I could think about was "carving" that mountain, picturing myself making those big very choppy and amaturish--but in my own eyes not so bad--turns.