We thought we were on time.

We thought we were prepared.

We were wrong.

The first sign we were in over our heads came when we got on the bus heading to Solitude Mountain Resort - this after we had jogged for five minutes to make it on time. Being the last two to get on the bus, it seemed everyone was staring at us as if we were keeping them from a good day of skiing and snowboarding.

Maggie asked, "How much?"

The bus driver replied, "$3."

"I only have a $20," Maggie said.

We hoped the bus driver would have mercy on us and let us get on, but she seemed like a never-break-the-rules kind of person.

Maggie reluctantly put in the $20 bill and we took our seats.

Our poorly thought-out plan to blend in with the ski crowd flew straight out the window, along with any ounce of confidence we might have mustered as we prepared for our adventure the night before.

Would this be too much for us? The thought crossed our minds.

Taking in our surroundings, we took mental notes: "Bring change for the shuttle, you don't have to match, wear layers, and don't wear tennis shoes."

Everyone else was wearing boots; we were the only fools to wear the kind of shoes that allowed snow and slush to get our feet wet.

It was painfully obvious: We didn't fit in - an observation perhaps based on our insecurities of learning something new, unfamiliar and somewhat foreign to us, a Californian of Vietnamese-

Cambodian descent and a Honduran raised in Minnesota.

That's the worst thing about trying something new - you always want to (or at least seem to) fit in.

You don't want to be the newbie, the novice, but that is exactly what you have to be, because everyone has to start somewhere.

The 20-minute bus ride was enough for us to prepare mentally for what was to come. It was also enough to give us motion sickness.

We arrived at the resort and were soon greeted by the director of the ski school - a tall Norwegian who gave the impression he emerged from the womb wearing skis. He took us to the rental shop, where we were fitted for boots, skis and poles.

Wearing ski boots is the most uncomfortable thing about learning how to ski. It's like having bricks glued to the bottoms of your feet. You practically relearn how to walk. "Heel, toe, heel, toe," rang the mantra in our heads as we made our way to Easy Street, the smallest slope at the resort.

That's where we met Lila, our ski instructor for the day. Her laid-back approach put us at ease.

"You'll do fine. It'll be lots of fun," Lila repeated in a friendly, motherly tone.

"This is your first time?" she asked.

We explained Maggie had had a couple of previous outings with what you could call mixed results.

Roxana could only remember tumbling down the man-made bunny hill during her sixth-grade trip back in Minnesota.

Lila's objectives were simple. She wanted us to be safe, have fun and learn. At times, the mischievous side of Roxana wanted to switch around the order. But it was important to Lila that we took baby steps. And that meant learning "pizza and fries" - putting the fronts of your skis together and the backs apart to form a triangle, and putting your skis parallel to each other - and stopping when she told us to.

We waddled up the mountain until we were both out of breath. Lila showed us the "bullfighter stance," where you stick your poles in front of you and slowly turn your body to face down the hill. Putting ourselves into "fry mode," we slowly made our way down the hill. We learned how stay in control and when to stop. The idea of controlling your body never felt so empowering.

After learning the basics, it was time to get on the ski lift - the great equalizer.

When you're on the lift, nobody knows you're a beginner. Nobody knows you don't have the right gear - which was good for Maggie because she had to use some cracked goggles from lost-and-found. Nobody knows you are scared to go down the mountain when you're on the chair.

It's scary getting off the lift. Roxana can tell you that much. You have to get your ski tips up and you have to time it right when it's time to get off the lift.

Every time Roxana went to get off the lift, she was incapable of heading straight and took a hard left as soon as she stood up.

Maggie didn't have a smooth trip up the mountain, either. It seemed every time she got situated with her gear, something would go wrong. Her nose and eyes would start to itch once she got her goggles on. She took them off and, when she put them back on, they were all fogged up. They continued to fog up as the hot air from her breath went through the crack. She wore them on her forehead instead for the rest of the way.

We weren't the only ones having trouble on the ski lift. We saw a lady get on, fail to get off and have to ride all the way back to the bottom.

So it could have been worse.

We know we looked silly.

And we know we have a long way to go to become good skiers.

But what we took out of this is when you try something new, you can't be afraid to let go of your insecurities.

We didn't have the right gear, but the next time we go skiing, we can guarantee that we won't be wearing tennis shoes.

Our one ski lesson wasn't enough to make us experts, but it sparked our interest and gave us a good foundation. That's the whole point of our series - to try to learn new things and get the basics down so that we can do them on our own.

Maybe you'll see us out on the slopes. If you do, be sure you stay clear of Roxana's left side.

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* MAGGIE THACH can be reached at mthach @sltrib.com or 801-257-8915.

* ROXANA ORELLANA can be reached at rorellana@sltrib.com or 801-257-8693. To comment on this column or suggest topics for future Novices in Nature installments, send an e-mail to features@sltrib.com.