I adjusted my goggles for the third time in the last forty seconds and tugged yet again on my gloves as if this might prepare me for the ominous run ahead. My breath came in short choppy puffs that matched the rapidly increasing rate of my heart. It was another one of Colorado’s bluebird days, complete with crisp air and was harshly bright from the snow glowing in the afternoon sun. My snowboard groaned and the snow squeaked as I slid a few inches down the slope. I hesitated peering down the mountain, took a deep breath, and resolved to go either now or never. I weighted my front foot, swiveled my hips and pointed myself down hill….well I almost did those things. I mean, I at least pictured myself going through all those actions, felt my muscles tense and release through each movement. The problem is I didn’t actually go anywhere, it seems as though my body had a different idea. Something I discovered when I realized I was plopped down in the snow. Looks like I was going never.
I buried my face in my hands feeling completely ridiculous. I was on a self-imposed mission and failing miserably. I spread my fingers and peering through my orange tinted lenses and watched a busty woman with bright pink lipstick slide stoically by in a brilliantly executed Texas tuck. Wearing nothing less than a fur coat and white pants I swear she had to have had painted on they were so insanely tight, I was momentarily concerned when I realized the seams might just burst open from sheer internal force. Mortified I dropped my head in utter defeat. What am I doing here?
Ignoring the clamor of the chair lift dropping of eager beginners on their first ever ski trip to Telluride, I closed my eyes and tried for a minute to remember what it was like to be a snowboarder. I willed myself to feel the cold rip through my clothing, feel the snow, move, alive beneath my board, the rush of trees sweep by as I descend from alpine hights, feel the sting of snow crystals on my skin as I float over the sea of snow, feel my knees acting as shock absorbers…ah yes, knees, and reality comes crashing back over me.
My bottom is becoming uncomfortably cold and beginning to protest to the unfair treatment but I still don’t move. I feel weary from the last six hours of mental warfare and I am still stuck in a stale mate. Searching desperately for some ammunition I let my mind drift back to eight AM this morning when I first got started in this whole mess. Elliot was leaving for work, cold weak light probing its way into the room he calls home. Kissing me on the forehead he offers to buy me a lift ticket for the day if I wanted to go ride. It was a generous offer, so I smiled but looked pointedly at my swollen knee. He shrugged, thought for a moment and suddenly smiling wryly suggested I ride the bunny hill once or twice and then decide how I’m feeling. With that he left.
I sat at the window, looking out on the brittle leafless trees, sunlight dappling the fresh snow, contemplating actually riding the (gulp) bunny hill. Did I even have the humility for such a thing? My pride said no way José and rebelled violently at the idea, but my soul, the part of me that so deeply longed for the freedom of the snow and winter in the mountains urged me out of bed and up to the slopes. I make it sound like an easy thing, but trust me when I tell you, it really wasn’t.
Dressing, I grabbed my truck keys and trekked out to the parking lot to collect my well-loved and fairly abused K2 snowboard, complete with purple flowers and baby blue bindings. Ode to my younger more girly self. The weight of it was comfortingly familiar and I relished the cold sharp edge against the palm of my hand. As I walked back home I tried to ignore the hitch in my step, the result of a climbing accident a month before and instead channeled my thoughts towards the mountains. My plan when I got out of bed that morning had been simple and straightforward. Get my board, eat some breakfast, catch public transit to the village, ride the bunny slope, which conveniently deposited me at Elliot’s front door and then spend the rest of the day relaxing and basking in the glory of my success on the mountain. It would have been really awesome if I had succeeded in that endeavor. However, I’m ashamed to say I got as far as collecting my board before things went horribly awry.
I puttsed around the kitchen for an obscenely long amount of time making myself a complicated meal of instant oatmeal and tea, while “cooking” my eyes kept wandering to my board where I’d propped it in the corner. I swear I could feel it staring accusingly at me while I did my best to ignore its existence. When I couldn’t distract myself any longer with the oat meal I turned my back on the corner and the snowboard it was harboring and popped a moving into my lap top, determined to push the ever growing feeling of cowardice out of my consciousness. I couldn’t focus though and despite the fact that it was pre flavored instant oatmeal my breakfast tasted like chalk and stuck uncomfortably to the back of my throat.
What if I can’t do this? What if it hurts? More importantly what if the pain is more than I can actually endure?
I shook my head startled when I realized I was staring blankly at the wall, tightly hugging my knees to my chest. Painfully I relaxed my death grip and detangled my limbs. The movie was rolling through the credits and I could see that the shadows outside were growing long. How long had I been sitting like that, I wondered. I glanced at my watch and nearly fell out of my chair when my watch informed me it was almost two in the afternoon. What the heck was I doing? Filled with renewed vigor I slipped my feet into my worn yellow boots, cinched them up tightly as if to hold in my courage, snatched my snowboard from the corner and banged my way out the door and up the hill. Which was how I ended up here, butt in the snow at the top of the blasted bunny hill.
Once again I closed my eyes to shut out the swarm of brightly clothed people inching down the slopes like obedient ants. I took a deep breath, relaxed my muscles and demanded myself to just think for one moment. I am here for a lot more than simply proving I can once again snowboard, this is a question of identity to me and preserving a part of me I have identified with since I was three. I am a snowboarder. This simple yet deeply personal truth was stripped form me when I injured myself climbing, an injury that in fact kept me from doing much of anything and I went through a major identity crisis. And now here I am with the opportunity to reclaim part of that identity, and by golly I want it back. Snowboarding is more than a recreational sport of sliding down mountains. It’s the expression of grace, strength, agility, freedom, joy and power, and if I have to ride down the drasted bunny hill to once again identify with those things, then you had better believe I was gonna do it.
I slid forward with out thinking, letting go of my pride and forgetting my fear, my pain and instead relished the wind and sun on my face. I gained speed steadily and with it confidence. I cruised passed the woman in the fur coat and smiled my first real smile of the day. Yeah Baby! I was snowboarding! Spraying snow in every which direction I skidded to a stop at the bottom. I couldn’t help but let a laugh cascade forth. I felt ridiculous by how much I let my fear and my pride control me. I felt ecstatic that, yes, maybe I could once again snowboard with only the smallest amount of pain to contend with. Most importantly though, I felt whole.
