Friday, October 11, 2013

Sitting On Top Of A Telephone Wire

My husband lies to me pretty consistently on a certain topic. When it comes to his athletic abilities, he goes for the downplay.

The first time we went skiing together, I started confessing that I wasn't much of a skier and would be sticking to the easy runs. He replied that he hadn't been skiing in a long time and wasn't that good at it, either. I swung my legs blissfully on the lift, thinking how nice it would be to inch down the run via wedges together, a kindred spirit at my side.

What he failed to mention was that one of the last times he'd been skiing was in the French Alps.

Allow me to point out the disparity between our experiences.

Easy Ski Slope: US MidAtlantic
Easy Ski Slope: Everywhere Else

So of course, we disembarked from the ski lift, slid to the edge of the run, and while I pointed my toes together and plowed my way to the bottom, my husband (then boyfriend) whooshed down the mountain side, expertly shifting his weight from side to side, ski poles never touching the ground. About thirty feet down he stopped (gracefully, natch) and realized I wasn't next to him. He asked if I was okay. I waved him off with my pole. "I'm fine!"

Not very good indeed. But I married him anyway, and then he took me for a round of golf.

I have a set of golf clubs, a bag, very cute golf shoes and adorable tops and shorts to wear when playing. Dressing the part concludes what I am good at when it comes to golf. I warned my husband that I wasn't very good. He said he wasn't, either. I hadn't caught on yet.

It took me several swings to get the club to connect with the ball on the first tee. Then my swing weakly sent the ball a few feet away and not in the direction of the actual hole. I stepped back to let my husband take his turn.

The man whacked the ball with the force of a galactic collision, doing that back twisting thing golfers do when the inertia of the swing has effectively put the club behind you. The ball sailed and sailed and sailed and landed so far away we couldn't see it anymore.

No, he's never going to be a pro golfer, but if the distance between how long his ball traveled compared to mine was a highway, a fuel efficient vehicle would be recommended.

Once he told me he was an okay swimmer. Then I found evidence of the swim meets he won in an old box.

And of course I should have seen the arm wrestling debacle coming. He is a good fifty pounds heavier than I am.

Whatever. One of these days, I'm going to challenge him to a game of kickball. I'll tell him I'm not very good. He'll say he's not very good, either.

This time we'll both be lying.

I can't wait.

Edit: Sue me, I can't remember everything my husband tells me precisely. I wrote this post, and then I asked him to confirm that he'd skied the French Alps. Or was it the Swiss Alps? He said no, when I lived in England I skied in Italy and Austria.

Much more down to earth. Glad that's settled. :p

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