Friday, April 19, 1996

This story starts in the middle, on the fourth day of my ski and snowboard vacation in Vermont. That day I got lucky. I think. My Level Two snowboard class only had one other guy in it, Brett.

On the way down the beginner hill at Sugarbush Mountain, an hour into the lesson, I finally managed a few turns without falling and arrived at the foot of the slope where Brett was patiently waiting. "You're getting better," he observed. Hard to believe, but I was actually flattered that this guy noticed. I took his sincere and authoritative comment at face value while he sat there on his bottom, munching snow. Hard to believe because I am a 35 year old trial attorney in New York and Brett is a student ... in kindergarten. He just turned six.

For those starting out on a board, check your ego at the door.

Snowboards first fascinated me last year while skiing at Steamboat Springs. You couldn't miss them. The baggy pants crowd were breeding under every bough, and were ripping down the mountains, having a rollicking good time. This led me not to attempt the sport -- I wasn't ready for that -- but rather, to investigate an exploding industry for possible investments. That, in turn, steered me to Ride Snowboard, which was raising money for expansion by selling stock to the public. They had sound management, rapidly increasing sales, no debt, and a solid reputation from riders. I bought some shares and watched the company, the sport, and my investment, boom.

Seeing smiling faces carving turns down the mountain, along with the interest in my investment, had me thinking, gee, I gotta try this thing. So last week I did.

Now my perspective is that of one who is superbly average when it comes to all things sporting, and I've had only one skiing honor I can safely call my own. At Hunter Mountain some years back, after a fall with a particularly long slide -- wherein I picked up speed, became airborne off moguls and left a rather lengthy trail of equipment, clothes and other debris in my wake -- I caused one of my oldest and closest friends to laugh so hard he wet his pants for the only time in his adult life.

My talent to induce laughter on the slopes, it seems, is not limited to my skiing ability, but to my prowess on snowboards as well. That happened on the bunny slope. On day one. A legion of little tykes on little skis with little helmets and little laughs saw me standing up. And falling down. Up. And down. Quite a good time for them. And no doubt for their folks as the little ones relayed the story of the funny, flopping man on the big, fat ski.

Unfortunately, I had not been forewarned about just how brutal that first day can be. Especially in the east with its notorious boilerplate ice. Ice that tends to hurt when you crash into it, which happens all too frequently during the first four hours on a board, especially if you're an individual of ever-so-average talents. Which I am.

By the end of day one, my butt was bruised, my tailbone was screaming in agony, my back had slammed into the ground hard enough to induce whiplash and my knees had cracked into the ice about five times too many. But hey, the kiddies had fun.

Something else also happened. Sometime during that day I carved a turn or two like I had never done on skis. I felt my legs swing wide while I rode the board up on its toe side and my body dropped to an unnatural angle to the snow. Without falling.

If not for my mental commitment to snowboard at least two days of my vacation and those one or two turns I actually carved, I wouldn't have gone back for more. Too sore to move on day two, I rested. Day three put me on skis, allowing my body to further recuperate from its battering and allowing different muscles to get strained. Ibuprofin became my good buddy.

Day four, where I started this story, had me back on the slopes for a second effort with a snowboard under my feet, and with little Brett showing me how it was supposed to be done. In addition to the Ibuprofin, I cut holes in the bottoms of two pairs of thick running socks and pulled them up for kneepads. I slapped a ball cap on my head with "FOOL" emblazoned across it for good measure. One thing I like about this sport; no one criticizes your fashion sense.

This day allowed me the thrill of falling while getting off a chairlift, a joy I had not experienced for about 25 years. Check that ego at the door.

Besides adding a sprained wrist, twisted elbow, two wrenched shoulders and sore leg muscles to my growing litany of injuries, I also started to string 4-5 turns together before flopping over. I could see the appeal of the sport as I continued popping that Ibuprofin.

Tired of the same boring beginner runs at Sugarbush, day five brought me to Killington. By lunch time, I was able to carve my way down the very wide, very straight run that forms the base of their extensive beginner area. Falling only once.

Able to competently make turns, albeit without much style and grace, I headed alone to the top of one of Killington's six peaks. I'd be damned if I didn't try at least one non-bunny type run on this trip, and to hell with the physical consequences.

I didn't start off well, falling time and again on a narrow beginner trail that led away from the summit. My confidence in making the tighter turns needed for this narrow trail was shot. A class of pre-school kids on skis passed me as I fell. Deja vu. Getting frustrated I continued to bail out when in trouble.

The beginner trail winding from the top of the mountain swung around and bisected an intermediate trail directly under the lift. Screw it. I had to try one blue run before going home, even if I took that color home on my butt.

Weary and frustrated, I steeled myself for the trip down what would otherwise be a joke slope if I were on skis. Intermediate. No bumps. What, me worry?

I tried to remember the things I was taught in the lessons. Do not to let my weight drift to my back foot and make sure to keep those shoulders facing over the board. I refused to hunch over. I was going to carve turns merely by pressuring my toe or heel on the front foot. Yeah, that was the plan. Folks were on the chair overhead. Damn the ego. To hell with the aches and pains. I wanted to do this thing.

As I rode the board down the mountain, the turns connected and everything came together. I stood up and, perhaps with just a smidgen of grace and no falls thank you very much, had some real fun in a brand new sport. I was carving turns. I was controlling my speed. I was snowboarding. It was, like totally awesome, dude.

I can't say whether or not I'll give up skiing for snowboarding. It's too early to tell. Without question, the learning curve for a very average athlete is indeed steep, if you can survive the initiation.

For those trying the sport for the first time, I offer a short packing list: kneepads, wrist guards and padded bicycle shorts or hockey pants. A suitably Foolish hat to keep your perspective. And Ibuprofin.

Oh yeah, don't forget. . . check your ego at the door.

Transmitted: 4/19/96