A pre-show phrase I've become accustomed to, working in the entertainment industry. However, I fear that I may actually do so this weekend.
In approximately three days, sixteen hours, and forty-nine minutes (approximately), I will once again brave the wintery slopes on skis after a hiatus of something like seven years. Of course, I'm terribly excited about the weekend getaway that JS and I will be taking, especially since it will include apres-ski soaks in the jacuzzi in my new Brazilian bikini, game night in front of a toasty fire with Em and M (cute, huh?), and far too much alcohol. But I can't help but feel a tiny pang of apprehension about the whole skiing part of the weekend.
With my ex, J (seriously, what is it with me and men whose names start with this letter?!), I took up snowboarding. So it's not like I've been completely absent from the slopes for the last seven years. But I haven't donned skis and the requisite torturous ski boots in what seems like an eternity. Freezing my cold feet further, JS is an incredible skier. And I used to be, too. So now I feel pressure to jump right back onto the black diamonds of my youth. But I fear I may be stuck on green circles all day. Or end up gliding gracefully down the hill on the toboggan attached to the helpful ski patrollers' snowmobile, broken limb braced for the bumpy ride.
I can hardly wait!