Lylah Herring was the fastest female skier in the world, but after a terrible crash at the World Cup left her in a hospital bed, she was lucky to be alive. Two years later, she's back and she's ready for redemption. The only thing on her mind is get...
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"You're really going to make me do this?" I grimaced, watching as hoards of tiny uncoordinated children swarmed below us, congregating underneath the bright red sign that red SKI SCHOOL. It might as well have read Hell as far as I was concerned.
Spending the morning helping Harry try to corral these little gremlins was the very last thing I wanted to do, but after a few beers last night, I made a bet that landed me exactly there. I haven't seen the guy in three years; how was I supposed to know he turned into some sort of card shark. The Harry I knew in college couldn't tell a full house from a straight, but last night, he wiped the floor with me in a game of poker. I wasn't one to take a beating lying down, so even after I lost all my money, I wasn't ready to give up. Since I was out of cash, Harry suggested we wager a morning of ski school. He was the head instructor and it was the last day of lessons before they closed down for the month.
"A bet's a bet." Harry grinned, slapping me on the shoulder. "It's just a couple of hours, and I have you on privates anyway. You'll only have to watch one kid." He glanced at his clipboard, handing me a registration card. "Hallie Olsen. I've taught her brothers the last few years. Six years old, first time on any slope besides the kiddie hill. You'll be on the greens all day, no problem."
Except it was a bit of a problem. I didn't ski. I was a boarder, and I couldn't even remember the last time I was on two sticks. Actually I could. I was about ten, and my sister and I were racing down the mountain in Lake Tahoe. Even then, I didn't like to admit defeat, and so in a desperate attempt to beat my little sister, I barreled full steam ahead, straight down the hill. The more speed I picked up, the more out of control I became, and I ended up crashing into a snowbank at the bottom. I watched in shame as Kennedy skidded by, solidifying her spot as the ski extraordinaire of the family. I put the skis down that day, picked up a snowboard, and never looked back.
The point was, I was severely underqualified for the task—even for a six-year-old first timer. Nursing a hangover certainly wasn't helping either. Harry conveniently forgot to mention just how much faster you can get drunk at this altitude, and I was feeling it today. I slugged down a cup of lukewarm coffee trying to keep it at bay as we stood in the window of the instructor room, watching the kids arrive in gleeful anticipation.
As I planned my trip to Colorado to watch my sister ski, catching up with Harry was at the top of my list. It was the entire reason I came out a few days early before the Olympics even started. Ken wasn't set to race until the end of the week, and I was going to be able to cash in on all the missed bro time from the last few years.
When Harry took over the ski school here in Vail, his opportunity for vacation was limited. Even in the summers, he was busy running camps and training aspiring skiers. The work never ended when parents were willing to fork over obscene amounts of money so they could brag about their children to their country-club friends. And in a town like Vail, there was no shortage of that. I much preferred the local tracks and the mountains with a more easy going feel. A person didn't come to Vail or nearby Beaver Creek if that's what they were looking for. Skiing and snowboarding were much more accessories than they were sports around here, barring a few diehard locals. The resort towns were boutique-y and honestly, made my skin crawl.
