From Chump to Champ: Diary of a Snowboarder, Part 1
Week One My friends got me into snowboarding on a bet. None of them thought I had the talent or coordination to stay off my butt for more than 100 feet. It was a bad bet, though. I may not possess the physique of a body builder, but I can hold my own on skis or a mountain bike. Above all else, I’m the hardheaded competitive type who won’t back down from a challenge—even if it’s the smart thing to do. My buddies think I was dropped on my head too many times as a baby. That may or may not be true—Mom isn’t talking—but I’ve suffered my share of scrapes and bruises sliding down a rocky trail. Thank God for helmets and Amped 2. With this game, I can show off my best moves with nary a scratch.
It must have been the allure of the snowy trails, or maybe the feeling of belonging to a special crowd of athletes. After I felt that virtual board under my feet, there was no going back. I won that bet and got a free lunch out of the wager. I spent the rest of the day getting comfy on the slopes. Nothing fancy, just learning how to turn and catch some air on the occasional mogul. I was getting the hang of it. Heck, getting money just for jumping on a board felt pretty good. I popped the game into free ride mode and took a spin down Millicent. Just how far could I take this?
Apparently not very far—at least not without some lessons. Feeling cocky, I decided to showcase my new moves in public. Those moves consisted of falling on my heiny at high speed. My comedy act got good reviews from the dangling audience riding the chairlift. Actually they ridiculed me and pelted me with snowballs. Not a pretty sight.
More than one random heckler suggested that I should try a lesson or two. After hearing this for the four hundredth time, I took it to heart. I shook the snow off my jeans and headed for the ski lodge. It was time to find an instructor and a nice pair of snow pants.
Snow School Within a few button clicks, I was enrolled in ski school. My instructor sounded like he knew what he was talking about, although I have to admit his use of words like “pop tart” and “butter” made me hungry. I choked a few times, eating powder on some jumps and smacking into more than one tree. I swear those trees had legs. They were jumping in my path. No really.
By the end of the lessons, I was popping some fancy jumps and spinning 180s and 360s with relative ease. I wasn’t an expert by any means, but I was learning. It was starting to come together finally. I’d show those chairlift critics a thing or two about snowboarding before the day was done. With new-found courage, and a couple fresh bruises in place, I headed for the top of the trail for one last run.
Redemption This time, new runs were available to me because my skill had caught up with my attitude. I took a deep breath and kicked off. I popped off the first big jump and spun a 360 with a melon grab. The snow snapped when I pounded a solid landing. Finally, a little recognition was due, and kudos showered down from above—much nicer than slushballs and just in time for my second stunt. I ollied onto a snow-covered log on the side of the trail and grinded down the bark. Just before reaching the end, I hopped off and spun myself around back onto the trail, making my first combo. Again, the crowd ate it up. This time, I heard something else: the distinct sound of a camera snapping off a shot. It turned out that the chairlift guy also handled sponsoring for local shredders. He liked what he saw and asked if I would be interested in helping a buddy of his out with a film project on snowboarding. Sounded good to me.
So is this the beginning of my brilliant snowboarding career, or am I destined to be just another wannabe chump? Only time will tell, but I know where my money is.
