learning to ski

There are some new things I experienced while I lived in San Francisco, and skiing is one of them. Well, not precisely. I had skied before, just once, about ten years ago on a high school field trip. Though we had lessons with a professional instructor, I couldn't even learn to stop. The most vivid memory I've kept from the trip is of sliding down a hill at full speed, which probably wasn't that fast but felt so to me anyway, yelling, "HELP MEEEEEEE!!" until another instructor finally stopped me before I dove into the line of his students.

Thanks to this both terrifying and embarrassing experience, I decided skiing wasn't for me. It was a torturous activity. Not fun. I'd never tried it again since then even though my mom, who's from Yamagata, a northern part of Japan with lots of snow in winter, told me how fun it could be if I practiced a bit more.

So when my friend asked me if I wanted to join him for a snowboarding trip to Lake Tahoe, I hesitated. But there was a promise I'd made to myself when I'd moved to San Francisco; to say yes to any opportunities for new experience. So yes I said. Even if I couldn't ride well, it would be nice to see some snow anyway, and it was snowboarding, not skiing, this time. There are a lot of people who enjoy snowboarding. Maybe it's actually easier than skiing.

"Snowboarding is tough," another friend told me.
She was going to Lake Tahoe with us. It was about two weeks before the trip, and I had been getting myself ready for snowboarding, rehearsing in my mind how to keep balance, trying to build muscles needed for the activity.
"Why don't you ski instead?" she suggested. "It takes a lot of practice and time to get used to snowboarding, and we're only going for a day. I don't know if you get to enjoy it. You know--," she added, "You're not really an athletic type."
That is true. Of all the adjectives out there, no one would choose athletic to describe me, unless they are being sarcastic. But, you know, you never know until you try, right?
So I declared, "I'll be fine!"

A part of me was indignant at her doubting my capability of learning snowboarding in a day (which probably was right), but another part of me was simply traumatized, almost, by the experience in high school. I'd failed once already, no need to try again.

But my friend kept insisting on me skiing. She said she was going to ski, too. And one day, about a week before the trip, she told me a story about her friend who'd gone for a snowboarding trip with her for three days and hardly enjoyed any of it because of having such a hard time learning to ride.

At that point, I was losing my confidence about learning to ride quickly. I was, after all, not athletic at all, and the muscles hadn't developed as much as I'd wanted. It scared me to think I might end up struggling in snow for the whole day.
"Snowboarding is tough," my friend said. "That's why I think I'm gonna ski this time."
"Okay." I gave in. "Maybe I should, too."

Thank God I did.

With skis on, even getting up after a fall on the flat ground was a challenge. Struggling helplessly on the snow, I realized my friend's insistence on making me avoid snowboarding was sheerly an act of thoughtfulness. I couldn't imagine doing this having both my feet tied onto a single board. If I fell on that, I would lie and move about like a dying cicada until someone came for rescue.

Finally, I managed to learn to get up. Sort of. Then it was stopping, slowing down and turning, none of which I could do very well. My athletic friends were patient, though, and with their help and guidance, I eventually learned to keep my back straight like a statue as I sped down the hill without falling.

We went up on the lift and skied (and rode) down. Up and down. Up and down.

After a few rounds, my friend asked, "Having fun?"
"Yeah!"

I was, truly. It amazed me how something that had once seemed impossible could be not only possible but so enjoyable. It wasn't my physical ability--I was as athletic (or not athletic) in high school as I am now--but the mindset. In high school, skiing was merely a mandatory part of the school trip. I hadn't chosen to do it. With this mindset and absolutely no experience, I had no faith whatsoever in my ability to learn skiing. All I thought during the lessons was, I can't do it, I can't do it, I can't do it. 

This time, though the voice was still there, barely but surely, whispering the same thing, it wasn't my main concern. I was determined to have a good time whether I could ski or not. My friends, with their you-will-do-it-or-you-won't attitude, made me move before I could start thinking, and once my brain recognized the activity as enjoyable--wow, skiing is fun!--that was that. It was fun.

As simple as that, but it took me ten years to learn it, just as skiing--keeping your feet shoulder width apart, bending your knees, moving your weight inward and outward, all those tips I'd heard but never really practiced before.


"You'll be hurting all over tomorrow," my friends told me as we drove home after a long day, tired, lazy and peaceful. "Maybe you'll have a hard time walking."

Well, I thought. That's not such a bad price for what I've learned, is it?

After all, if you can't walk, you can ski!