On the slopes of Highland Hills a few decades ago, I decided I was going to try jumping a mogul. I’d been skiing for a good couple of weekends by then. And as a teen, I had no fear — or so I thought. As I approached the mound of snow at high-speed … last minute decision — I bailed. And I bailed in a most dramatic way, ending with a face plant, my legs twisted underneath me in the most indelicate of ways. Soon, I was strapped to a sled (with duct tape, no less, which ruined my fancy pink velvet pants upon removal) and whisked down the hill, off to Fairview-Southdale hospital, where I was pronounced the recipient of strains to both ankles and both knees. I spent the next week on our living room couch recuperating, reading Nancy Drew books while my mother, I’m certain, inwardly seethed at my recklessness all while plying me with cut up apples and cocoa.
Snowboarding wasn’t an option when I was a kid, but that day on the slopes ended any thoughts I’d harbored about being the next Jean-Claude Killy. Perhaps if I had been given some thoughtful instruction similar to that of Kelly Jo McDonnell’s son, Hayden, on the slopes of Trollhaugen, I might not have had the audacity to do something I clearly wasn’t ready for.
When our daughter Hanna began to show interest in snowboarding, my husband and I signed her up for lessons. And because of that, we have spent big bucks over the years on an array of related accoutrements: all-day passes, board, boots, etc. Yow. This is not a cheap sport (as if any sport really is).
But what I love about Kelly’s article is learning about how thorough a good instructor can be, even teaching a child the best way to take a tumble. Had I been taught how to fall, how to bail even, I suspect I may not have had that hospital visit. As coach Hoag says in the article, “We’re going to be safe first, we’re going to have fun, and along the line we’re going to learn something.”
And isn’t that a sentence we could apply to just about anything in life? Happy February, all.
