In Which I Indulge in a Midlife Crisis

Okay, so maybe it's not really a crisis.  Maybe it's just noticing that life is for living.  When I announced to my husband that I was going to try my hand at writing, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "If not now, when?"  This comment led me to start working on a bucket list.  It's not a fancy bucket list. I'm not going to tell you what's on it because I keep adding stuff.  I have already done some cool stuff in my life.  I've been in a hot air balloon with the US Navy (why didn't I appreciate that more when I had the chance?), I've been to Paris, Nashville and Las Vegas (where else do you need to go?).  I can do all kinds of stuff and have had a varitey of jobs: teacher, scientist, fiber artist, bodybuilder posing suit maker. 

What I have never been is an athlete.  I've tried a couple of times.  I played soccer for one season, when I was in the 8th grade (a LONG time ago, soccer had just been introduced to the midwestern US, so no one else had ever played, either).  I did really well at practice, but when the game started, I would completely freak out.  I remember feeling like I was standing in the middle of a busy highway with traffic rushing by in both directions, a helicopter beating the air above my head, and a thousand people with bullhorns, all yelling different instructions to me. 

I joined a "wallyball" team in college, which is volleball played on a raquetball court, but I was really only there because it was  a co-ed team and they needed girls.  The guys knew that I would stay out of the way and not try to actually participate.  We became the West Hamilton YMCA Wally Ball champions, thanks to my non-contribution. 

Anyway.  In an effort to try to get my 13-year old daughter up off the couch more often, I signed us up to go skiing last weekend with my son's boy scout troop.  Oh.  My.  God.  First, let me say that I had a ball, and I can't wait to go again.  Second, third, and forth, "Ouch". 

I used muscles I didn't know I have (and I used to teach anatomy, so I know which muscles I'm supposed to have).  On the beginner slopes, there is this conveyor belt thingy, instead of a chair lift, and I fell getting on it, I fell getting off.  I did great going down hill, though!  Then, when I finally felt confident enough to go down a bigger hill, I tried the chair lift.  Tried.  I did fine getting on, got up in the air, and learned that I have a tiny fear of heights.  I'm 46.  You'd think I would have noticed this before, but apparently, like allergies, phobias can develop at any stage of life.  I also fell getting off that one.  There was a very nice young man waiting to lift middle aged ladies, however, which almost distracted me from my humiliation.

But you know what?  I'm ready to go again.  I still can't bend down far enough to tie my shoes, due to the hamstring I pulled.  I also have a mysterious rash on my left shin, which my son said is from not putting my boot on correctly (I suspect it's flesh eating bacteria from non-sanitized rental boots).  I am really not a fan of being cold, but it's 60 degrees out today. If the snow machines are still working out there and it's open, I'm going to drag that teenager back to Perfect North tonight. 

Is this a sign that I am finally losing my grip on reality?  Or maybe I am more of an adrenaline junkie than I thought?  Maybe, like with writing, I am in "keep trying until I get it right" mode.  I'm going with the latter option.   And maybe I should go find those balloon pilots again, cause I don't think I did that right the first time, either.