the story of my thumb (cross posted from MySpace blog)
Learning to snowboard is like falling in love.
In both, it's best to put as many layers between the icy world and your easily freezer-burned hide as will fit under that classy new shell of yours.
The boots, worn by how many others (? two? dozens? the whole ski team?!) never seem to fit when first you try them on. The only comfortable position is kneeling and you don't want to spend the whole event kneeling since children will laugh and couples will whiz by, coats dripping lift passes like it's autumn in the scratch-ticket forest, glancing and thinking how you must be new at this.
Staring up at the the expert slopes, fear overcomes testosterone and you do the astronaut walk over the the bunny hill and ask for lessons from the guy with one leg. Ok, so he has two legs, but one hangs, unfelt, in a brace, the result of a rock-climbing accident (note: rock climbing is a lot like getting polio.. but that's a different story).
The learning curve is steeper than the kiddie slope, but it keeps you on your toes, unless it's knocking you on your heels. Weight forward, lean, never back and point where you want to go. You try pointing at the lodge, thinking the bar must be open by now and a drink couldn't hurt. But apparently the pointing thing doesn't work for the novice. You did bring nips, didn't you?
It's far too cold and it's a work day and far fewer people seem to to have shown up than were expected. The workers wish you luck, but would prefer hurry up and get on the lift before the bowl they've been smoking goes out, cause a Bic is hard to light wearing such heavy gloves. Up lift and the mountain, a polar bear's back and he doesn't look happy.
The rest is a blur. It's exhilaration punctuated with hard ice smashing back and arm and head. It's impossible to slide slowly, so you let off the brakes (which you don't have.. did you forget?) and let the gravity of it all wash over you and pull you towards ... anything. The wind. You point where you are going, admitting you have no control over your direction until it's all too fast and,.,,
... you fall on your face, sliding, tumbling to slow down (stopping is not included in beginner lessons), snowboard digging into ice and grabbing, flipping, ragdoll in the dryer, if there was a dryer in the freezer, landing on.. your thumb.
You finish the day, numb from the concussion and the tiny bottles of Goldschlager thinking, "I'm never doing this again!", but you know that, once healed, you will.
And that's how I broke my thumb.
In both, it's best to put as many layers between the icy world and your easily freezer-burned hide as will fit under that classy new shell of yours.
The boots, worn by how many others (? two? dozens? the whole ski team?!) never seem to fit when first you try them on. The only comfortable position is kneeling and you don't want to spend the whole event kneeling since children will laugh and couples will whiz by, coats dripping lift passes like it's autumn in the scratch-ticket forest, glancing and thinking how you must be new at this.
Staring up at the the expert slopes, fear overcomes testosterone and you do the astronaut walk over the the bunny hill and ask for lessons from the guy with one leg. Ok, so he has two legs, but one hangs, unfelt, in a brace, the result of a rock-climbing accident (note: rock climbing is a lot like getting polio.. but that's a different story).
The learning curve is steeper than the kiddie slope, but it keeps you on your toes, unless it's knocking you on your heels. Weight forward, lean, never back and point where you want to go. You try pointing at the lodge, thinking the bar must be open by now and a drink couldn't hurt. But apparently the pointing thing doesn't work for the novice. You did bring nips, didn't you?
It's far too cold and it's a work day and far fewer people seem to to have shown up than were expected. The workers wish you luck, but would prefer hurry up and get on the lift before the bowl they've been smoking goes out, cause a Bic is hard to light wearing such heavy gloves. Up lift and the mountain, a polar bear's back and he doesn't look happy.
The rest is a blur. It's exhilaration punctuated with hard ice smashing back and arm and head. It's impossible to slide slowly, so you let off the brakes (which you don't have.. did you forget?) and let the gravity of it all wash over you and pull you towards ... anything. The wind. You point where you are going, admitting you have no control over your direction until it's all too fast and,.,,
... you fall on your face, sliding, tumbling to slow down (stopping is not included in beginner lessons), snowboard digging into ice and grabbing, flipping, ragdoll in the dryer, if there was a dryer in the freezer, landing on.. your thumb.
You finish the day, numb from the concussion and the tiny bottles of Goldschlager thinking, "I'm never doing this again!", but you know that, once healed, you will.
And that's how I broke my thumb.