IN ODD WE TRUST

Massive exhale.

I'm back from Park City, Utah in one piece. Physically, that is.  My heart, however, got broken into a billion pieces.

Day one. Kevy (life crush) and I went snowboarding. The sun was blazing and the snow was fluffy. It was perfect. He even committed to a day with me on the slopes which, for an ah-mazing snowboarder, must feel like jogging with a 95 year old. I can get down the mountain but I am afraid of extreme speed and those narrow cat trails which I renamed cat walks to try and give them some appeal. Because, for a snowboarder they are not savory. Unless you take these winding narrow paths with cheek-puffing speed you're going to come to a stop and will be forced to hop your way to the closest incline.  But I was doing it. And much to my surprise Kevy wasn't embarrassed by me. In fact, he said I was a 7 out of 10 (on a scale made for beginners and spazzes.) I was proud. So was he. So he rode ahead and recorded me coming down. Later that night we reviewed the footage. I was pretty good. If you don't count my swinging arms.

Usually snowboarders (good ones) have a very relaxed stance. Their arms are slack and their hips pivot with hula dancer ease.  I looked like I was constantly hailing a cab. I began to beat myself up and get self conscious.  I looked much better when I couldn't see myself.

No matter. I would go for slack arms the next day.

Day two. The sun was gone. The wind was vengeful. My board no longer glided. It scraped. My pivoting legs were sore. And my lips were chapped. Still I was going to look relaxed if it killed me. Which it almost did. We ended up  on a run that was 100% cat walk. I was miserable. Kevy kept shouting at me. "Keep your speed up!" and "Ride the high ground!" but all I could think about were my cab arms. And then I'd fall. My circuits were getting jammed. I was too concerned with how I looked. I kept telling myself to stop being so shallow. But that became one more thing to think about and I'd fall again. I was getting frustrated and tears were forming. Still, I got up and persevered. Then, just as I started getting into a rhythm some older dude whizzed past me. (A SKIER!) He was flailing his arms in the air and shouted, "Try using your arms more! Ha!"

It was a pole straight to the heart. I fell. I cried. Okay, truth? I bawled. I shouted, "Ass!" because that's all I could think of. I was shocked. I mean, who does that?

I lay in the snow crying. People passed and stared. Kevy had to assure them I wasn't injured. He was getting annoyed that I was being such a baby. I was too. I never cry. But I felt so sorry for myself. There I was trying and progressing. And that ass-pole had to come along and ruin it. What did I ever do to him? Why me? Couldn't he see that I was a beginner? And that I was already a 7 out of 10?

Later that night I asked myself why I got so bent out of shape. I mean, I preach accepting yourself and your flaws. I write books about it. I tell people to celebrate the things that make them different and not to hide them. And there I was, crying because I do some weird arm thing when I snowboard and someone called me out on it. Poor me.

And then I started to giggle.

I imagined myself DIY-ing some feather-glitter sleeves so when my arms flail I'd look fabulous. Because that's what I'd have one one my characters do. She would own her crazy quirk. She'd turn it into a thing. And that's why we would love her. So I decided to become the Crazy Arm Boarder. (CAB, get it?) Maybe I'll get made fun of again. Or maybe I'll start a new trend. Either way, I'll get a giggle out of it. And that's always better than a cry.

TTYW

Lisi