The other day I walked over to the climbing gym next door to get a membership and to start feeling some (fake) rock again. I gave my name, paid my buck or two, and was on my way to losing serious skin on my fingertips. Something was missing, though.
Today I went snowboarding for the first time this season. We drove up to Sept Laux, a resort in the Belledonne, a short hour's drive from Grenoble. It seemed that every other slope was decorated with slalom poles or downhill gates.
There was no race going on, and no one seemed to mind if people took a chance on the challenge. That's when it finally dawned on me what had been missing in the climbing gym. In stark contrast to when I lived in the US, I had no waivers to sign, no proof of insurance to show, and no one lectured me on the dangers inherent in rock climbing. The same laid-back attitude today in the snow - no waivers, no warnings.
It is so refreshing not to be treated like a baby anymore. You are responsible for your own actions. No one tells you that coffee is hot or that knives are sharp. People seem to know. If you fall off a cliff or impale yourself on your skis, it's your own fault. If you can't handle that, don't go out and play.
But play I did. There was one thing that I could hardly handle, though - the snow. To my spoiled eyes, it looked like grated ice. Falling hurt, after six years in Utah a completely new experience, and not a pleasant one. I ought to go have my board waxed and my edged sharpened. Or maybe I'm just a baby and should stay inside.
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