photo by Valeriana Solaris
Yesterday was the annual Murf the Surf's Poker Run. Imagine this: hundreds of people, half dressed in costume, most drunk or on there way to being drunk, on skis. Sure sure, some were on snowshoes, but the majority? Yep, on death sticks. And I only call them death sticks during the Poker Run because hello, we're all drinking...and skiing...downhill. The event supports some charity (I've been told). It takes place on a popular, mostly downhill cross country ski trail. I've skied this trail a number of times but never inebriated, which brings me to the problem. I have never face planted so many times. And I'm not talking just on this trail. I have never face planted this much. Every 30 or so feet, I went down, face first. Where were my arms to help me fall you ask? I have no idea. It seems they decided to take the day off and let me fall in all of my tutu-ed glory (that's right, I was wearing a tutu). This particular trail typically takes one and a half to two hours to do. Yesterday? A cool four and a half hours. Hundreds of people on the trail, half of those people (myself included) falling all over the place and our poker run stops really held up the day. By the time we made it back to the car, the bf and I decided to skip the raging party that follows the run and headed home. We had our party on the slopes.
Have you ever done a Poker Run?