On Skiing

Went skiing with family for New Year’s. Below is the wonderful tale of that experience.

Waiting

If you like waiting - mostly in line, but also on chairs - then skiing is the sport for you.

The first wait was in line to rent equipment, which was a long one. There was this lady behind us who gave us instructions while we were in line. She mostly told us to “scoot up” when the people in front of us moved forward. On one of these cues, I moved forward less than 6 inches, and that was apparently satisfactory. Turns out when you’re in the middle of a long line, scooting up does very little to save time. If we had not scooted up at all, we would have arrived at our goal no more than one second later.

I exited the equipment rental to find another line at the ski lift.

Skiing

The last time I skiied was over two years ago, which means it was basically my first time. I had an instructor back then — his name was Scooter or something like that — and the one thing I remember is that this guy hated the pizza. The pizza is when you ski down a slope by making a V shape with your skis. It looks absolutely horrible, and is the hallmark of a novice skiier. What you’re actually supposed to do is slalom down, skis parallel, moving in the shape of an S, left right left right, cutting tracks in the snow, controlling speed, shredding powder.

Riding the lift up, looking down, I found that it’s pretty much impossible to look uncool while skiing (so long as you’re not doing the pizza). Every person coming down the slope looks great — but that’s probably because they are better skiiers than I am. Some of them are crouched for speed, so aerodynamic, chest touching their knees. Some of them are standing all the way up, aloof, totally chilling out. Some of them bounce up and down as they slalom. They make it look so easy, and I’m sure I’ll look just like them soon enough, despite the fact that I actually have no idea what I’m doing.

Something about the skiier/snowboarder aesthetic reminds me of ninjas. There's something innately cool (no pun intended, seriously, you gotta believe me) about it, the tinted goggles, the no-part-of-your-face-except-maybe-your-mouth-showing, the multilayered clothing like a soft armor, the ski poles like twin katanas. Even the people who are like me, who have no clue what skiing even is, look like the most agile assassins as they fall.

At the end of the lift, my skis hit the snow, I go into a left turn, and promptly fall on my side. Ouch. Falling the instant you dismount the lift is not something I would describe as a good omen. My confidence drops a little, but it’s fine, I’ll just copy the people in front of me.

I start downhill. The guy in front of me is crouched down low, back of his hands on his butt, poles sticking straight back like two long quills. He really looks like he knows what he is doing, so I copy him. The acceleration is strong, but man, what an adrenaline rush. It feels good.

I decide I need to slow down, so I attempt a slalom by shifting my weight mostly to my left ski. It doesn’t work that well. I find it really hard to keep skis parallel and end up doing a slight pizza. Somewhere many miles away, Scooter winces and doesn’t know why. I will never really figure out how to get my skis parallel by the end of the trip, although I will get better at it. 

The course is blue, which means it’s probably beyond my level. Still, I feel the incredible rush as I attempt my slalom, going way too fast, unable to control my speed. A memory of the last time I skiied enters my brain: Going down a steep hill, I lost all control and ended up faceplanting into a tree at high speed, arms and legs splayed out on either side, cartoon-style. The adrenaline coursing through my system was so intense that I felt no pain; I shrugged it off, and made it down the hill no problem. It is a good memory.

I think I have my ski boots on too tight, because they are uncomfortable, but loosening them makes the strap come undone and that can’t be right. I fall a lot more than anyone else. It’s all worth it for the rush.

Day Two

The second day is a lot better than the first. I feel more in control of my skiis, more adept at shifting my weight around, more cool. I ride the higher lifts. 

I go down a slalom course, decked out with flags and stuff. It's pretty steep. I don't fall; I adeptly swerve around every obstacle, perfect S, going fast, center of mass low. Damn, I look cool right now. I bet those people on the lift are thinking about how cool I look, and they could not be more right. I am one badass skiing hero. I feel the rush, embrace it, let it envelop me, kiss it tenderly. I am more than human in this place. I am a skiier.

I then go into the trees, which was not a good decision.

Trees

Going into the trees underscores my incompetence. There is no room for the the massive, course-wide slalom swerves I was doing before. There is no forgiveness or mercy in this place. There is, however, a lot of powdery, fluffy snow that my skis sink into. I fall constantly, getting snow all over my face and up my sleeves. I slam into trees. There is no rush here, because I am pizzaing so hard my right ski forms a 90 degree angle with my left ski. Scooter cries himself to sleep that night.

My falls put me in weird, Kafkaesque scenarios. How did my left foot end up pointing backwards, my right foot pointing forwards? Where did my skis go? How come the only way for me to get up right now is to lift both my skis over my head and attempt a backwards somersault? How do I even get up right now? How long would it take them to find me if I died here, cold and alone?

Next time down, I decide to go into the trees again. It’s even worse this time. My eventual, tortured exit is half-crawl, half-slide-on-my-ass, the least graceful thing ever. I skiied as much in the trees as I skiied on my way up, riding the lift. Worst ninja ever.