Four days. I had only come into contact with snow four days in my life that I remember. Having been born in Bakersfield, I believe you will agree snow is something I wouldn’t forget. Snowboarding wasn’t just some extreme sport to me; it was a whole new experience. Balance isn’t a trait I have ever been able to master. Skateboarding always ended up with me on my ass by the time the board was moving. Pathetic, I know. When a couple of tiny wheels are a problem, a slick board flying on ice doesn’t seem too promising.
And so the third Battle of the Sexes began up in Shirley Meadows on a late February morning. Alta Sierra was melting away so here was possibly the final chance to get out on the slopes.
Being in 40-degree weather, my ’80s throwback jacket wasn’t necessary. I looked plenty ridiculous without it, falling about every 20 feet. Eventually, I figured out the basics and was making my way down the beginner slope.
Turning definitely was a problem. I found that out after nearly flying into a small groove of trees. As I rode the slope a few times, blasting The Black Keys, I was getting into it. Staying low and trying not to fall over, I went as fast as the hill let me, eating it and laughing all the while. After I fell straight on my tail bone on some ice, I was almost comforted to know that it wouldn’t get too much worse than what I had just felt.
My proudest moment was on one of my first few passes around the slope. I found a small bump in the snow. Combining that with a small jump, I somehow pulled off a 180-degree turn.
For the next 30 feet I was pretty proud. Then I lost my goggles and my beanie as I tumbled down the hill. With each pass, although I never stopped falling, I would get a bit farther and a bit faster, at one point going from the first lift almost to the turn at the bottom of the beginner hill. Needless to say, I was running on adrenaline at that point.
However, since I had busted out a 180 degree early, we decided to have a formal challenge for distance down the slope. And of course, my luck sucker-punched me again, having me falling within the first 10 feet. Great. No chance at the hat trick now. I’ll never live this one down.
The intermediate slope was waiting to be conquered. Well, at least I could make my mark on it. Although I built up speed a few times, I definitely left some holes in that mountain. Going down without my gloves wasn’t the greatest idea but my hands thawed eventually after trying for about two minutes after the run to get my keys out of my pants with hands that couldn’t grip or stop shaking.
What I didn’t think about is that it had been years, yes years, since I had really worked out. If I do this again, there will have to be a few trips to the gym before I strap on a board.
We all drove home and after dropping off a friend, I couldn’t lift my leg into the car. I had to drag my poor aching legs into the cab. Being the one in better shape the next morning felt unlikely. A few handfuls of the Chex Mix and some tea kept me flying the rest of the night.
As 10 a.m. rolled around, I flopped out of bed, feeling those falls on ice in my joints in my arms. My legs were sore but my arms and shoulders were a constant annoyance throughout the day.
For some reason, I was blessed with taking the brunt of the pain after the hour and 20 minute drive home.
Not being athletic, this was an experience that I hadn’t seen on my radar but it was a party all the way.
Maybe I’ve misjudged Shawn White all along. Shred the gnar, you crazy little leprechaun. I’ll see you around the fire.