Out Numbered

It was glorious when our little car made it safely down to Wanaka and I found that my coach was here. I finally made it on snow and I am loving life again. So much that bloging has slowed; therefore I am happy to make this entry. Now, I am living in a house with four guys and back to playing mom. Nonetheless this is okay because I love the simpler life with out the drama that sometimes follows females.

Yes, we made the 450km journey from Christchurch down to Wanaka without further problems. We were stoked to have the top down for part of the way; it left a good feeling after the repair fiasco the days before. Ryan drove most of the way while I prayed that we would not break down. Although now we have been driving up the scary dirt roads in the car and it seems to be fine. The best is when we have four people and boards in the car; it reminds me of a clown car. We used our ankle and toe ratchet straps to fasten down the back of the boards while a leather skipping rope holds down the front to the roof racks. It’s a little Macgyver style but definitely works. One more reason to be thankful we ride snowboards; you could never pull that with skis.

Having a coach on snow is a luxury and I was stoked to arrange for one to be with me over the next few weeks to train together. Coaches make tasks like goal setting and sticking to those goals much easier. Having eyes on you is important to progression, there are other ways to get what you want, but coaches are instantaneous feed back which acts as a great tool. However, it does push the testosterone content in the house up one more notch and leaves me out numbered 4 to 1.

I really don’t mind being the minority, I did grow up in a boarding school where boys out numbered girls 4 to 1. Still it’s just that I often slip in to the mom role, a curse for being somewhat organized and punctual. I find myself tidying, organizing dinners, riding times, and the general going ons in the house. They don’t ask me to do those things but someone has to do it for the flow of the house. I really don’t mind, I guess it’s the common differences between women and men that I am noticing more as I mature. There is one thing I honestly don’t know, what it is about men and socks? Every where I turn there are random pairs, or singles, of socks hanging around on the floor or in the couch. I don’t really understand how one loses track of such things constantly. The worst part is that they never remember taking them off in the first place.

Still I will take the mother role and mystery socks any time over the drama that is built up in living with women. Men don’t have to gossip, if they do then it is about that hot chick that was in the cafeteria, lasts for about ten minutes and is over with. They don’t take forever in the bathroom and can venture there quite fine on their own. I know that right now it is perfect for me; this uncomplicated lifestyle for my complicated task.