My husband and I used to ski any chance we could get. We weren’t the Coloroado type skiers or even the kind likely to head to Vermont for a ski vacation — we didn’t have that kind of money. But still, we loved to ski.

We were the type to volunteer to chaperone the youth group ski trip. Or to stay in a bunk room that slept 10 to 12 friends at some nearby resort. Or we would just head out for an evening on the slopes of Liberty or White Tail. We even invested in our own skis in 1995. They were cutting edge at the time, and we put them to good use for a couple of seasons.

But then I got pregnant with Maggie. And our skiing came to an abrupt halt.

Now we’ve got four kids — none of which is really clamoring to learn how to ski. And really, this is a good thing because to outfit them, rent skis, pay for lessons and buy a lift ticket — we are talking over $100 per kid for one day.

But lately Chris and I have heard the mountains calling. So this week, I took our skiis in for waxing and to have the bindings checked. But when I walked through the door of the store where we purchased the skis, the young guys working couldn’t hide their amazement. First they snickered at the binding protectors, then at the bindings themselves, and lastly just at the skis. It’s like I had returned from the dark ages. They couldn’t believe that I still had the “pledge card” that insured lifetime maintenance.

But as it turns out the bindings’ lifetime was already over. After looking them up in some parts catelog, the salesman actually called them “condemned.” They are so old, they aren’t allowed to work on them, he explained. “It’s too dangerous,” he said, very apologetically.

Meanwhile, I’m thinking “WHAT?? These skiis are still new! We just got them! They are shiny and pretty and totally cool looking!” At least that’s how it feels. I remember the day we bought those skis like it was yesterday.

But apparently, they are dinosaurs. Another young guy hanging out behind the counter suggested it would be better if we rented skis.
“You will have much more fun, and it will be much easier on your knees if you rent,” he said.

I wanted to yell at him “I had plenty of fun on these skis 12 years ago, dude!” But I didn’t. I started thinking about what he was saying. I’m an old lady and my skis are even older. My knees are not what they used to be, and I’m going to need all the help I can get if I’m going to attempt to ski for the first time in 12 years.

Suddenly, hitting the slopes doesn’t seem like such a great idea after all.