Brighton, Utah: Schwoop, Schwoop, Schwooping
I would have figured that by now my "wicked case of wanderlust" was simply common knowledge. I mean, that is the catchphrase of this silly little blog... "Tales of a wicked case of wanderlust." If anyone is down to jump on an airplane and fly somewhere (anywhere, really) it's me. As long as I can take pictures and write about it, I'm satisfied.
With that being said, you could imagine my dismay when I found out about my dad's weekend plans to escape the 70-degree Texas weather for some frosty Utah ski-slopes. Flustered and appalled, I began to pack my suitcase as I called him up to bitterly inform him that his pesky little daughter would be accompanying him on this icy adventure.
The next day, the view from my window looked a little something like this...
And I was on my way to Salt Lake City, Utah, home to "the greatest snow on earth."
Upon arrival, a herd of 12 deer welcomed us back to SLC.
And my five little cousins provided me with a (much-needed) breath of fresh air and plenty of entertainment. Sometimes I forget that there are little people outside of my small college bubble.
Tell me this is not the cutest photo you have ever seen. Such a ham.
On Sunday, we finally headed up to Brighton Ski Resort, which is where most of the locals ski.
I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous to jump right back on the slopes. The last time I skied in Utah I was about 12 years old and woke up on a stretcher being pulled behind a snow mobile. I was in ski school (by myself) and passed out due to altitude sickness. My sheepish little self was too nervous to tell the instructor that my snowy world was spinning, so the next thing I knew, I was breathing through an oxygen mask in the health center. Lesson learned.
I don't know if altitude sickness is something you can outgrow or not, but I must have because I was completely fine this time around.
The weather was perfect and the resort was relatively crowd-free.
We never had to wait longer than 10 minutes, if even, for a lift.
I only had one or two good face plants. Unfortunately face planting underneath the lifts wasn't the embarrassing part. It's the standing up that would get me. I was like a fawn trying to walk for the first time. I would get halfway up, and my legs would collapse again. After I merely peed myself from laughing so hard, I was able to pull myself together and continue on my way.
We skied mostly greens and blues, but did encounter some unnerving moguls at one point. I stood at the top of the mountain trying to find any alternate route. But unfortunately, trees were to my left and my right, and the moguls were my only option. I decided to go for it once a little boy, so small he didn't even use poles yet, zoomed right past me and, excuse my language, made those moguls his bitch. It was the craziest thing I've ever seen, but if he could do it, so could I. And slowly but surely, I made it.
When we took a lunch break, I was immediately aware that I was going to be sore the next day and boy, was I was wrong. I was sore for much more than just the next day, but it was obviously well-worth it all.