Legs

 

This is the internet. And we all know that anything that is on the internet must be true. So I feel it is important to put it out there into cyberspace that I have long lithe legs. Legs for days, the kind of legs that make other women weep with jealousy.

Excellent. I now have lanky cyber legs.

Shame about my planet earth legs. Perhaps… trunks would be a better word. Sigh. On the bright side, at least I’m not likely to be blown over by a gust of wind anytime soon. I do however, find I have a kinship with the hams in the supermarket fridge section which can be disturbing.

Anyhoo. When I was a young newlywed… you know, the sort that shaved/waxed said trunks more than biannually… we did a lot of travel. My husband is a traveller, and he also likes to ski. On mountains. With snow. (It’s proven to be better with snow present). Subsequently he decided to take me skiing. I had only seen snow for the first time 2 days before, so you could say I was a novice. For some reason he decided that my first snow skiing experience would be on Whistler mountain in Canada.

Wow.

No, really… wow.

What a mountain.

So in order to ski you need gear. You need clothing that makes you seem wider/cuddlier/everything I normally try to avoid. And boots. Boots that are not made for walking. Naturally I presented my slender calf, slipping it effortlessly into the boot wondering… will this be too loose?

I struggle. I cram, I hold my breath in, I squish and squeeze my hefty calf into the unnatural unforgiving cocoon of foam and plastic, praying that I won’t cause the buckle to burst off and hit my neighbouring skier in the eyeball, my leg finally acquiesces. I stand/lean awkwardly upright. I’m ready.

Then my husband, with so little experience in this wedded bliss we share says the unthinkable.

“Don’t worry Bec, you just have stubby legs”

(Yes, He is still alive, although he does now have a phobia of ski equipment.)

And there you have it. I have stubby legs.

I waddle my way in my it’s so tight I have no blood reaching my toes boots to the top of the ski run.

My husband, having recovered from his boot hire injuries, waved goodbye as he slid down the mountain like a gazelle.

I stood atop the mountain. I did know that the idea was to slide down the mountain. But I didn’t/ couldn’t. I just stood there, in my too tight concrete boots. I can’t go down there! What if I trip over? What if I run into someone? What if it’s a complete disaster and I embarrass myself?

I stood stationary for some time. Like a time lapse with people whizzing past me. I stood. I stood there ALL DAY. Knowing that there was fun to be had, there was freedom to be had, that yeah I might take a tumble, but the ride was worth it. I stood. Afraid.

I was on one of the most beautiful mountains in the world, an exciting and invigorating journey lay before me, but I chose to stay rooted in the known, in the security of my stubby legged hole in the snow.

Bummer.

2 Timothy 1:7King James Version (KJV)

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.