Here is the final column of “The Dating Years.” Yup, my reign of Salt Lake’s Tragic Dater is now over. Whew. It’s been fun, but I’m really happy to be done. Now I can date because I want to and not because I’m getting paid to. Yippee!
As the adage says, all good things must come to an end. Last weekend I found myself ending two significant things in my life: this column, and deep-seated hatred of winter sports and snow.
First things first… this will be the last installment of “The Dating Years”. In the past year and a half I’ve regaled you with stories of my dating adventures. And adventures they have been. I’ve met some amazing men during this time, and have repeatedly made the same mistakes over and over with them ruining any hopes of a long-term relationship, all while humiliating the men and myself in public forum. Complaining aside, it’s been a remarkable year and a half. I only hope you had as much fun reading this column as I had writing it. With that said, I am not leaving IN. I will be writing a new column with an emphasis in entertainment. This new column will debut next week and I’m extremely excited about it. Watch for it! Read it! Love it! Please?
After years of avoiding all winter sports, I finally decided it was high time to stop making lousy excuses and give it a try. In my 32 years I’ve not skied or snowboarded once. I’ve always hated being cold and refused to take any part of it, until Sunday, when I found myself in the mountains with a board strapped to my feet. It was absolutely terrifying and yet somehow I survived in one piece—bruised, but in one piece.
Snowboarding, while incredibly hard, was surprisingly fun. Had I only known this, perhaps I wouldn’t have spent the last ten years finding any way to avoid going. My best mate Cathy, an ex-snowboard instructor, gave me a one-on-one lesson all day. Her incredible patience and ability to look past my klutziness made the day so much better than I’d expected. Sure, I still fell trying to get off the lift every single time, as well as making the way down the mountain on my ass rather than feet. Luckily I had my best mate there to pick me up, brush off the snow and pump my ego each time. Telling me it was OK if I needed to cry. She knows me well.
Walking around I couldn’t help but notice all the cute guys on the mountain–cute, athletic guys, my second favorite kind. This made me wish I’d showered before heading out that morning, or at least washed off the previous night’s eye makeup. It’s difficult to have the nerve to walk up and flirt with good-looking guys when limping and looking like I’d just made my way home from a wild party.
Apparently the resorts are where many of the attractive men in Salt Lake City hang out. If only I had the skills to look good on a board they may have wanted to flirt with me. Instead they were likely busy feeling sorry for me as I fell down the hill repeatedly. Maybe after a few more lessons I’ll have enough confidence to glide over and talk to them without the fear of getting tangled in my board. And now that I won’t be writing publicly about the men I meet, they may actually be interested in dating me. Here’s to hoping!