Under my Skin

I started snowboarding again, after a six year hiatus from the activity. The hiatus was partly due to an increasingly distant and frankly irrational fear of ski lifts and partly due to a period of financial difficultly.

Because of the hiatus, I have had to relearn everything, from how to properly fit and strap in my boots to how to get on and off ski lifts, I spent the better part of the two hours I was out on Saturday practicing on a beginner's slope called School Haus.

I am a hyper conscientious beginning snowboarder. I am the type of individual who warns the party behind her on the ski lift that there is a 99.9%* chance I will fall coming off the lift. When I do fall, I don't dawdle, I get my partially strapped-in body out of the way as quickly as I can.

When riding, I go to the least populated parts of a slope, usually unpopulated because the terrain is icy, lacks a decent layer of powder or is otherwise not conducive to a successful run. If I should happen to fall (a given), I am not taking other skiers and snowboarders out with me.**

I cannot, however, control the actions of other people on the slopes. I cannot, for example, force the father who was so busy looking down at his un-helmeted daughter while teaching her to ski that he forgot to look in front of him, from nearly colliding with me.**

That we did not collide was a minor miracle, considering that he came into my left field of peripheral vision so suddenly that I had no other choice but to stop my board, as I am not fast or skilled enough to veer the board out of their way.

Near collisions on the beginner's slope are a given, since everyone on the slope is (theoretically) learning how to ski/snowboard/get down the slope without falling down, in one piece. The general etiqutte in such situations is to apologize, check for injuries and move on.

This individual, however, was disinterested in following the general etiqutte. Instead he informed me that New York state law dictates that skiers have the right-of-way*** and went on his way with his daughter , skiing underneath the curved edge of my board.

As no one was injured, I should have let the incident go. But I could not. Instead his comment left me angry and deflated and seriously considering whether I wanted to continue investing the time, effort and money into trying to learn, only to be picked.

I tried cutting him some slack, as he was a parent and could have been a little bit shook up. As I look seventeen years old, in my bright blue jacket and funky hat. As he could have been having a bad day. But I could not shake my anger at his absolute sense of entitlement, that those ahead of him, on the slopes or in life, will merely sense his presence and get out of his way.

After several minutes of sitting on the slope, thinking, listening to J rave about my improvement and rant about mean people sucking, I finished the run down the hill, unstrapped myself from the board and we headed for one of the intermediate slopes, with a faster moving quad lift.

I fell while getting off the lift. I fell once on the way down. I managed to keep the front of the board pointed forward and the edges parallel to the slope. It was the best run I've had in years.

* I actually successfully got off a lift once. Seven years ago.
** I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, that he did not see me, even though a small, petty part of me suspects that he did it intentionally.
*** The state law says no such thing. Skiers (including snowboarders) are required to look upslope when merging into a new trail and pay attention to what is in front of them. J, who was higher up on the slope watching me, confirmed that the man and his daughter came up from behind.