And then she fell – experiencing Vancouver’s ski culture – a beginner’s perspective
It’s where the first ever gold medal was won by a Canadian athlete on home soil almost a year ago. It’s got great snow, great runs, great facilities and it’s only half an hour from my driveway. Cypress Mountain had been, until recently, an enigma to me – I knew where it was but had never gone up there. There was no reason to, because, after all, I am not a skier. I am the exact opposite of a skier, actually. If it is possible to be the negative of a skier, that’s me. I don’t even like being cold. The only time I previously wore skis was in grade 6 and it ended with me and my sprained ankle being loaded onto a sled and taken away by first aid ski-doo. And that was flat-land cross country. So you can imagine the trepidation I felt agreeing to try snowboarding. But when you have these amazing facilities on your doorstep, it’s stupid not to experience them, right?
When I told my Grandmother my plans she asked sweetly if I was “going snowboarding or snow falling?” That was not a good sign. But I’m always up for a challenge, and with good friends, a brave face and a “good luck” A&W hashbrown in my stomach, I was ready to go. The first thing that greets you at the lodge are the giant lime green Olympic rings which, I swear, are just there to make you feel invincible. There’s something about seeing them there that suddenly takes over your body and makes you believe that you too are an Olympic caliber athlete. Clearly this mountain would not accept any less. And clearly I am totally delusional. I’m a big believer in that when you look like you know what you’re doing, it helps your performance (see delusional comment above), and once we were all kitted out in our rental gear I honestly thought this couldn’t be nearly as difficult as I’d previously thought.
Thank God not one of the four of us really had any previous snowboard experience, so we started off the day in the only logical fashion: with a lesson. It was pretty much us and 100 elementary school kids all learning to swoosh and splat together. We were the taller ones not wearing neon. It was only when I landed on my knees the first time that my imperviousness started to wane when I discovered that I couldn’t get up gracefully. It was more like a giraffe trying to drink – ass in the air, knees splayed at odd angles, inner thighs screaming as they attempted to keep the board from flying out from under you and sending you right back to the snow. I’m pretty good at laughing at myself when I tank at something, which turned out to be an invaluable skill. Two hours later we had mastered the learning hill (six feet of fun with a bench at the top) and I was getting the hang of this snowboarding thing. There’s still something horribly unnatural to not having your body face in the direction you’re going, and knowing if you try to turn that way, you either stop or fall, but whatever, I was psyched and ready to move up to the big girl hills.
By big girl hills, I mean the mile long bunny hill. I’m not that stupid. To get up there it meant taking my first chair lift, and that was nearly as exciting as the run itself. It was when we were about halfway up that I remembered that my lesson had not included chairlift instructions. My boyfriend, who’s lesson had included that important skill, tried his best to talk me through it, but it still ended with me making an ungraceful splat and then trying desperately to crawl out of the way of the incredibly talented 8 year olds who were in the chair behind. My record for the day ended up at 0 for 4.
Holy crap, this thing looked steep from the top. Visions of that first aid ski-doo ride started flashing through my head, but I came to snowboard, dammit, I could make it down this hill no problems. Sometimes being young and stupid works to my advantage. Face sideways, perfect form… oh shit! I’m going too fast and have no idea how to stop… and I was on my ass in the snow. I’d made it about fifteen feet. Now I had been awesome at getting up back on the flats, but when you throw in a 50 degree angle it’s a whole new ball game. Ten minutes of trying everything I had in my arsenal, including squirming, panting, praying to the Gods of snowboarding and making snow angels (that last part was just to make me feel better. It was an ugly snow angel with my feet attached together) I had to resort to taking one foot out of the bindings, standing, and buckling myself back in. Standing back up is the hardest part of snowboarding, hands down. Take two. All told, it took me fifteen minutes to get down that hill, complete with two spectacular face plants and a lot of snow stuck in interesting inner places in my gear. Thankfully, falling didn’t hurt nearly as much as getting up did.
By now I was exhausted. But the only way to learn something is repetition, so it was back to the chair splat, I mean chair lift. By the end of the day I was noticeably better, my record was only three falls on the way down, and I was very, very good at taking off and re-fastening my bindings. I’d only cried once, out of sheer frustration when I fell right at the top of the hill (read: inches before I’d actually started going down it) and had been unable to get up while a kid the size of my right thigh swooshed past me with ease, but that actually turned into my best run of the day, so it had been worth something. I cannot tell you how much I appreciated flat ground, my running shoes and a hot tea, though.
All told, snowboarding was really fun. Now I understand why people from all over the world flock to Vancouver just for the mountains, as you can easily head up after a long day at the office and still get a few good runs in before closing. And it’s conveniently close if you have to be heli-lifted to hospital, so that’s comforting. I’m not sure if it’s my sport… yet, I’ll need more practice and the ability to get up and stop without falling (both skills which I’m nowhere near mastering), but I’m not giving up. Just taking an extended break 
