The 2006 Winter Olympics are in full swing and true to form, the California Badillos are in full couch potato mode. My husband casually mentioned that he'd skied the same slopes as the world class snowboarders we were watching on television.

When the newscaster mentioned Bardonecchia, Mike perked up and said he'd skied there a few times on high school field trips. Had I not known this man for more than 20 years and been privy to his Italian lineage and history, I would have laughed off his comment.

Until I met my husband, I didn't know anyone else who had skied the Alps, took weekend trips to Rome and celebrated Oktoberfest in Germany.

Being from an Air Force family, Mike and his sister Elizabeth attended NATO schools in Naples in the late 1970s. My father-in-law, Richard Badillo, a retired chief master sergeant, served 30 years. My mother-in-law, Pauline, is a native of Albuquerque and daughter of an Italian-American father.

The Italian relatives, with whom they are still in close contact, are some of the most beautiful and generous people I've ever met.

While Mike was skiing the Italian Alps, I was avoiding the slopes in the Sandia Mountains. On a fateful winter day, One of my best girlfriends, Lisa, talked me into skiing for the first time. She soon became Dolores' Enemy No. 1 I later forgave her and she became a bridesmaid in my wedding. Girls. Go figure.

I grew up with the Sandias in my backyard, so to speak, yet never took to the slopes. Skiing, like golfing to me back then, was a rich man's sport. Plus, I hated falling down and getting hurt under any circumstances, much less hurtling down a slippery mountain.

I vividly recall that first incredulous moment on the top of the mountain. I still find it amazing that people ski and live. My "friend" Lisa abandoned me soon after I tumbled off the lift. Thank God for her friend Diana. This angel of a friend's friend babysat me through the morning and called off the dogs when I accidentally slid over their skies.

That first experience with skiing was hellish. Bruised and embattled, I vowed never to ski again.

Flash forward six years. My new husband and I are in Mammoth, Calif., in a rented cabin with four other couples. One of the other girls was planning on cross country skiing, and I, with my painful downhill memories, was going to join her. That is, until I learned how much hard work cross country was, and how boring it could be. My competitive edge kicked in, and I decided to hang with the downhill skiers.

Mammoth Mountain has a very gentle bunny slope. I learned how to ski in a couple of hours and advanced to more challenging slopes by noon. I even had fun. Mike had of course taken off with the faster, cooler group.

Lunchtime rolled around, and along with a couple of friends, we waited for the others. Instead, I was paged and met with the ski patrol who reported that Mike had had an accident. I was told not to worry, that he seemed fine when they strapped him in the gurney and skied him down to the ambulance.

This is what I heard them say, but of course in my panic, I thought they were sparing my feelings and that he'd actually had died. My prideful morning forgotten, I caught a ride down the mountain to the Mammoth Hospital For Hotdog Skiers Who Never Learn.

Entering the Concussion Ward, I was warned that Mike probably wouldn't recognize me. I found my husband with the goofiest (yet alive!) look on his face. He had suffered a fall that took away part of his memory. Luckily, and this was according to one of his friends who decided the jump looked too dangerous for him to attempt, they snapped a picture of the actual jump.

Awesome hang-time, dude!

I slept on the hospital floor that night and the next day drove the two of us back to Riverside, six hours away.

Between two disastrous skiing experiences, Mike's fond memories of the Italian Alps and lack of memory of anything Mammoth, we can relive our so-called glory days. For now, the couch is a less dangerous place to be. I heard that Nintendo has a video game on snowboarding - Go Team USA!

Dolores Sanchez Badillo, an Albuquerque native who lives in southern California, is the proud owner of a gold medal in the Emergency Room Dash.