Apparently, four of five adults who have their first skiing experience never come back. This is what the ski instructor said. I get it, but I hope I’m not among the four.
I finally did it this past weekend, took the plunge, so to speak, suited up, braced the cold, drove to the resort, strapped on the crazy shoes and skis, and attempted what I had long delayed. I went skiing.
The proof that this happened is extremely present in my body right now, which I can hardly move from here to there without a presentation of moans and groans. Sore doesn’t quite describe it—most likely from the falls more than the skiing itself. I think I fell or tipped over some 12 times until I learned how to center my gravity on the thin strips of wood on which my feet were strapped.
Nonetheless, the experience was grand. More exciting still was the society of skiing, the resort, a little world of health, diversity, huge age range, persistence, dedication, and unrelenting displays of astonishing athletic virtuosity. This was especially amazing to watch in the many kids from the ages of 4 to 14; it’s stunning.
Maybe this is why adults, particularly people of my age, don’t like to go. It’s breathtaking to watch the young people fly around at such speeds and with such agility. It should inspire, but there is such a danger that it just becomes demoralizing.
Young people can learn just about anything—from languages to piano to skiing—far better than adults. It is physical, but it is also mental. Young people have no mental stickiness telling them that they cannot do it. Also, one assumes that their brains are more malleable and adaptable.
The instructor told me that he teaches completely differently for kids and adults. To the kids, he just explains where to go and what to do. They figure it out upon the doing.
The adults, he said, tie themselves up in knots of mental and intellectual confusion about gravity centers and technical matters of how it all works. He has learned over the years to overexplain to the adults, not because cognition is the key to skiing but rather because the adults need understanding to get over the psychological resistance.
Still, adults can learn, if only we are willing to make the effort. I’ve noticed that the older people get, the less willing they are to try new things. I certainly am, but, being aware of this, I’ve also cultivated the habit of pushing myself to do the uncomfortable. This can be intellectual, as I’ve tried to teach myself disciplines and skills I neglected in my youth.
It is especially challenging to do this with physical things. I’m not particularly athletic, which is all the more reason that it is good to undertake new skills. I did ice skating a few years back. It took about eight visits to the skating rink finally to navigate around without looking ridiculous.
And this is, I suspect, a major reason why adults don’t take on new tasks. They fear looking ridiculous in front of others. It’s a fact: For sure, people will be looking down on you as something of a loser—there is no question that this happens—but it turns out that there is no great downside at all.
In other words, so the heck what? Everyone has to start somewhere. The best way not to be bad at something is never to do it at all, but that’s a lame option.
At the ski slopes, people are ready to cheer you on no matter what. At least that’s what I found. The spontaneous community of the place is quite inspiring. People are nice, polite, deferential, obedient to the norms of the place, and working together to have a good time.
The most shocking part hits you early on. There is a lack of strict rules for where you must ski, how fast you can go, how to interact with others, and so on. This is different from the rest of our lives. Our world has become so filled with legal boundaries and mandates, all in the interest of safety and community, that we are not as practiced as earlier generations in simply using good sense and making our own evaluations of risk.
The omnipresence of danger is perhaps the most glaring difference between the ski slopes and the rest of life. On those slopes, you can absolutely wreck your body, permanently. The risks people take are incredible. And yet, that is part of the thrill, mastering your personal technique in the pursuit of both joy and the overcoming of imminent death.
There are no cops out and about telling you what to do or blowing whistles when you step outside the lines. Social approval and disapproval do all the work, and because people are deliberately taking on risk and danger, they are extra sensitive to the presence and views of others.
Every great achievement in life involves risk, danger, and uncertainty. Nothing that can be done with perfect safety is notable, much less builds character. Skiing is a beautiful instantiation of this. It’s often scary, even terrifying, and yet we do it and live to tell about it.
As for the matter of health, you will see it on display at the ski resort. Let’s face it: You have to be in pretty good shape to take this on at all. And the more you do it, the stronger you become, which is the way it is supposed to work. To put a fine point on it, I did not observe much in the way of obesity here at all. Ski bums are probably among the most fit people there are, at least comparable to surfers and other athletes.
I’d always heard that skiing is a very expensive hobby, but that is only true if you are not careful. There are indeed endless ways to spend more. But I’m looking at sites with used equipment for prices equal to what you would pay for two or three visits to the slopes. With a bit of study, skiing is within any budget.
My big fear going into this concerned the cold. Could I even stand it? I had not considered how the hard work and constant movement would provide contrary mitigating temperatures. I was shedding layers pretty early on, and at some point, it felt like a spring day out there. When I finally gave up, too bruised and beaten to continue, the cold became very apparent and I bundled up yet again.
Mostly, I’m just thrilled that I did it and can tell myself and others that it finally happened. No longer will I feel like an outsider when people brag on their glorious ski trips to here and yon. I can nod knowingly and be part of the gang.
Yes, it’s true that I’m still terrible and the bunny hills still scare me. No matter how much I practice, I will never be as good as all the 7- and 9-year-olds out there cutting up the snow. And that’s fine because the point is not to be the best or compete. The only competition is with ourselves and our tendency toward complacency.
This is true with vast swaths of life, whether sports or dancing or learning how to work a new application on our smartphones. There comes a point in life at which we are no longer willing to learn new skills. That’s a real shame and one we can overcome with just a bit of pride swallowing, bravery, and change of attitude.
