snow going

Dear Gerry Lopez,

My name is Athena. I saw you - at least moving images of you - at a screening of Warren Miller's "Children of Winter". You sealed my fate; I knew after that that I had to learn how to snowboard. This is the story.

I went surfing for the first time this past summer, on my honeymoon. My husband Chris and I went to Kauai and Maui, and signed up for a lesson in Lahaina. As we walked from the shop to the beach, our instructor described his transition from snowboarding competitively out west to teaching surfing in Hawaii. There are only so many mornings you can wake up and not move from the pain of the last trick you learned, and do it all over again he said. Water's softer than land. We paddled out our jumbo soft tops (I got rashes on my arms from it; I'm 5'2" and 95 lbs soaking wet and I could barely get my arms around the board), and I got up on my second wave ever, and that was it. Hooked. Like everything in my life before had led up to that moment. I didn't know how, but I knew I'd just have to make more of those moments happen, come hell or high water...

Which is a bit hard to come by where we live. Cambridge, MA isn't far from the ocean, but you have to drive at least 45 minutes on a good day (to our humble North Shore) or an hour + to New Hampshire, Rhode Island, the Cape. I went every chance I could in the fall, and even determined to buy a winter wet suit for the colder months. But after checking the umpteenth surf report and resigning myself to the flat - ankle high pronouncements, I sort of gave up. Very disappointed in myself, but I hoped I could pour all my energy into a couple trips to warmer places. And then I saw that movie, and it was all clear. I live in New England: if I can't surf, I can do the thing that comes closest on some frozen waves.

Needless to say the first day I tried snowboarding (in Sutton, Canada), I couldn't find the surfing analogy to save my life. No "getting up" the second time, no heroin-like realization that I needed more, no dangling of legs in the water, killing time 'til the next wave. Falling, falling, falling, falling. Or rather: crashing, clashing, slamming, jarring, jolting. Tailbone to brain. My dear husband, a big skiier who'd snowboarded once, kept telling me I just needed to rock from my heels to my toes. We marveled at how easy it looked when others whizzed by. I wondered where all my tai chi and meditation and yoga and working out prep had gone. At least by the end of that day, I did know how to fall a little bit better, and I could get down the bunny slope with some dignity. Okay, dignity's overreaching here; I could get down.

Insert immediate dunking in hot tub, hours of stretching, taking arnica, drinking wine. Then the second day, I had a teacher. A supremely nonchalant, good-humored teacher. There's nothing natural about locking your feet into a board and winding your way down a mountain, he said. You have to train yourself to resist your inclination to always lean back on your heels. Try turning and facing the mountain on your toes. That was the day I discovered how much faith it takes to make the subtlest of movements in a counterintuitive space. To be going at a speed, looking up the slope, not seeing what's behind you at all. But the light bulb burst when I did it... a tiny pop, and some sputtering through the rest of the day, and I realized even though you start pretty low in snowboarding, your progress comes quick.

The third day, a different, sweet teacher - who really broke down each little movement and its purpose. And I started to feel the surfing analogy reprise. I started to put all the pieces together: look where you want to go, lead with your shoulders, flex and extend around the turns. Some of my turns were even smoother than my falls. And by the fourth day I could make tiny jumps (not over anything in particular) and do 360s (not in the air, and not without coming to a standstill at the end). My muscles burned on the flats and the steeps, and I'm certain nothing will ever replace surfing. But I am hooked. I know I'm just knocking at the door of my snowboarding fun. Someday soon it's going to be FUN, and it makes me feel super happy that I can take advantage of my beautiful New England home, its abundant winters and small but earnest mountains. And ever important is the repeated confirmation that there are so many things out there that teach us we can only experience control when we fully let go.

So... thank you. Feels like so little to say for the gift of inspiration, but I mean it with all my heart. I aspire to your grace and relaxation in whatever groove you're riding. And I wish for you that all the beauty and elegance of the universe continues to be reflected on your path.

Yours,
Athena