thing 2: go snowshoeing

i suppose whoever said, “if you can walk, you can snowshoe” was technically right. i feel the need to point out though that they never mentioned anything about doing it with any semblance of grace and style. let’s travel back to the day before . . .

two of my wonderful friends had agreed to help me with my quest to go snowshoeing, so for my birthday, my husband planned a weekend away for us. (while i’m almost certain his motives were sincere, it didn’t hurt that he had absolutely no desire to try this with me.) bright and early saturday morning, we piled into the car – three pairs of snowshoes, three sets of poles, three overnight bags, one big box of snacks and liquor (because, well, that’s really an essential for an overnight), one cup of coffee, one giant soda, two cameras, one blank notebook to fill with my 44 things ideas, and three very excited women dressed for our guided snowshoe tour. a bit into the ride came a text, saying that the tour was cancelled due to the fact a foot of snow had fallen. really? my thinking turns to “what’s snowshoeing without snow”? well, it would then just be “shoeing,” and seriously, isn’t more snow better than the alternative, which would then just be hiking? faced with needing a plan b, we decided to wander around boulder. we had such a fun time going in and out of stores, having lunch, and people watching – all on a beautiful warm day while we sweated and looked ridiculous in our clothes for snowshoeing. but, hey, it’s boulder, and they’re eclectic there, right (or so we told ourselves)? (we are three intelligent women, so why we didn’t think to remove some layers while in starbucks is beyond me.)


we made our way to the stanley hotel, which was built in 1909 and was stephen king’s inspiration for “the shining” while he and his wife were the only two guests there. the stanley is an old, elegant hotel, and its charm comes from the fact it’s not new, creaks, and has its own permanent residents in the form of ghosts and hauntings. i am petrified of things along this line, but, really, how bad could it be? we had drinks, took a ghost tour, had more drinks and dinner, and went to our room, which was directly under one of the known haunted rooms. we learned the ghosts at the stanley were not mean spirited. apparently, they were just loud (moving furniture, wandering through the halls), nurturing (tucking guest’s covers around them during the night), and fresh (pinching women’s bottoms and stealing their jewelry). i am not exaggerating when i say i was up most of the night and literally jumped out of bed when my friend got up to get something. i heard all sorts of noises – whether human or otherwise is still up for debate – but i did not get my bottom pinched. in the morning – while watching “the shining,” (yes, in daylight), we decided to go snowshoeing on our own because, darn it, that’s what we came up to accomplish. so, dragging our sorry, mildly hung-over heads out the door, that’s what we did . . .


if putting on the snowshoes was any indication of how this was going to play out for me, i thought i was in trouble – especially because the ranger’s conversation with us about avalanches and well marked trails was looping through my head. i am an admitted baby at times. it’s part of my charm (or so i tell myself.) one last text to my husband to tell him where we were just in case we didn’t come home that night, and we were off . . . like a herd of turtles. swishy, swashy, thwank, thwonk . . . this is what i heard for the next few hours . . . swishy, swashy, thwank, thwonk. (the swishy, swashy for the snowpants, and the thwank, thwonk from the snowshoes and boots.) another thing our snowshoe quote guy from above failed to mention was that this was quite a workout. short of finding the breath to plea for a break, i found myself huffing and puffing, and i don’t consider myself necessarily out of shape. i was so grateful (and not in a mean way) when one friend’s shoe holder thingy (yes, that’s the official name) would fall off since that meant a few minutes of not moving. once fixed, off we went like ducklings again. snowshoeing did get easier as we fell into a rhythm and got used to having awkward things on our feet, and, of course, we managed to laugh, stumble, and have an incredible time, appreciating our surroundings. it sounds clichéd, but it’s amazing the beauty around you that you don’t always get to see or absorb. i tried my hardest not to be my annoying, fretting self – even when it was pointed out to me that i shouldn’t poke my poles towards the undersides of rocks because of snakes or i when i swore i could see ice melting over a lake we had to get across. (i did laugh so hard when one of my friends imitated shelley duvall’s spastic running in “the shining” while trying to get across said lake that she lost her shoes, which caused me to almost wet my pants. this lead to another conversation about learning how to go to the bathroom outside, which is not going on my 44 things list. so there.)


where does snowshoeing leave me on my list? well, it is one adventure down the list, but, more important, i learned how much more fun it is to try something new with friends. i’m fairly certain that if i tried snowshoeing with my 8-year old, i would have abandoned the trek (and, “yes,” it was a trek) twenty steps in when he started moaning, “this is hard” and began using his poles as weapons against imaginary beasts and pokemons. not only were my friends there for this adventure, they were there for me -- supporting and encouraging me and giving me such an incredible gift. i am so very fortunate.


because it makes me laugh and was part of the weekend, i need to add the top three quotes of the trip: “if you were a real friend, you’d sleep with me,” “you think that’s a water stain on the ceiling, but it’s not -- it’s from a dead body,” and while snowshoeing, “you know, we’re only as strong as our weakest link, and we know who that is.”


now to decipher the ideas we compiled – and, “yes,” vegas was included. . . on to the 42nd thing . . .

thing 1: create a blog

i don’t have a story. you know, something you’ve done that pops into your head and makes you smile, blush, sigh about a time or a person from long ago, or gives you goose bumps. oh, sure, i can relay other people’s stories, but i don’t have one really good story of my own -- and, seriously, like an incredible little black dress, every woman needs at least one good story. this has been a frequent topic between my friends because they all have stories. there’s the friend who got drunk and tried out a stripper pole. the friend who can tell countless stories about her time in california; taking off in a helicopter from coronado bay or telling tales about the sex clubs she wandered past in san francisco. one friend was told she and her husband would never be able to have children, so they spent a year planning a trip around the world and quit their jobs to go on this adventure. low and behold, while in prague, they learned they got pregnant while in italy. one of my favorite stories is when a friend went to alaska on a kayaking trip that ended up being more harrowing than i could ever imagine – and yet he would tell the events over and over again and laugh just as heartily as the first time. i think my bravest friends -- and the ones with the most fascinating stories -- are the ones who stepped away from their traditional 9 to 5 jobs and opted, instead, to follow their passions.

i’m not sure how exactly it is that i got to be almost 44 and not have a story. my guess is because i was never really encouraged to be adventurous. i went to school, played sports, and had after school and summer jobs. i was surrounded by family and knew i was loved, but it was drilled into my head at a very young age that i was not to embarrass my family – and, as far as i can recall, i never did. there were no high school exploits that warranted any sort of intervention. i simply never had a rebellious side or, if i did, i suppressed it. in college, the only two reprimands i ever received were when my roommate and i put a “for sale” sign in our dorm window and made margaritas on the lawn in front of our dorm. oh, sure, i went out drinking, had a fake id, got my heart broken, and did a handful of foolish things i'd like to forget, but never anything that equates to that one story i want to recall into my old age. i had opportunities, but, looking back, i did not seize them. i did not really stretch and go to a college that was out of my comfort zone. i did not apply for any semesters overseas. i did not run for any elective offices. i did not move into manhattan after college, which is something i wanted to do. (although, at a starting salary of $15,500 in publishing, i would have been be living in a studio apartment with six other people, rotating sleeping arrangements.) i could argue that i wasn’t ready, but, the flip side is to say, “ready for what”? while at the drop of a hat, i can tell my husband “i left all that i knew and loved to come across the country to be with you,” i don’t know that that’s my story (although, it is a good one).

i’ve been known to say on more than one occasion that i’d like to go back to high school and college as the person i am now. i’ve got more confidence. i am more comfortable in my own skin and in my abilities. i am happy with the person i am becoming. i can tell a joke (but, mainly to the under eight set), and i can laugh at myself. i cannot hold a tune, and i botch lyrics, but i can sing with heart – and when alcohol is involved, just try and stop me. so, with the approach of my 44th year, i have decided that it is time for my story. i have no idea what it will be, but i can count on the fact i will be enlisting my friends in these adventures. this year, i will try 44 new things – things i’ve never done before. these things don’t have to be crazy and death defying – just new things that will lead to new stories. i’ve never had a dirty martini, graduated from the driving range, tried zip lining, gone camping (real camping, as opposed to car camping with shower and bathroom, etc), climbed a 14er, snow shoed, been away for a weekend by myself, written anything for anyone else to read . . . i guess i am now down to 43 things . . .