Black, Blue and Bruised

Date: Wednesday,  August 4, 2011

Time: 4:05 pm

Location: Taupo, NZ, The Fox’s sun room

This past Saturday I took my first ever trek up a mountain with the intention of taking advantage of the slippery quality of snow and the ability to ride gracefully through the meanders of a path down to the bottom.

If only.

I was wary of snowboarding to begin with for two reasons; one, your feet are bound together by a very hard board. People were given two feet for a reason; it’s easier to balance that way.  Plus they are bound together in a very unnatural way, in a permanent war-like stance, with your feet spread far apart. As if you’re preparing for battle or something.

Two, how the heck do you stop?! There aren’t any brakes on that thing. It’s smooth on the bottom! And what if you’re flying down a mountain with a cliff to your left and you’re trying to avoid other skiers and snowboarders AND it’s a very steep decline?!? There’s only one answer to that question for the inexperienced, first-time snowboarder; you don’t.

Not gracefully at least. As I was finding it very difficult to master the correct way to stop, I took to just plopping my butt down whenever I was going too fast or needed a sudden stop. This technique would often cause a fantastic spray of snow on anyone nearby and would often times involve a great deal of pain to my backside, but it was better than going off the side of the mountain or mowing down the unsuspecting skier/snowboarder. People get quite cranky when you knock them over!

“Thanks for that!” Said a particularly humorless Kiwi woman I knocked from standing position.

As if I enjoy getting jabbed in the gut by your ski poles, lady! It’s not like this isn’t the one millionth time I’ve done this today either. You think you’re tired of falling over?!

Despite the good hour I spent learning what to do on the bunny hill; that was the gist of my entire day. It wasn’t a particularly nice day either, it was overcast and sunless. By the end of the day my hair was drenched from the on-off snow showers and my “water-proof” ski gear, soaked through.

On day two, I elected to attempt to ski instead. This was also for two reasons; one, your feet aren’t connected. And two, you get poles to help you stop. (So I thought)

Sunday was nicer weather-wise times 1 million. The sun was shining and the mountain looked absolutely majestic and inviting. Special thanks go out to my extremely patient ski/snowboarding instructor, Bevan.  To stop, your ski’s should look like a “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” To go they should look like “French Fries! French Fries! French Fries!”

So I learned how to ski to the tune of; “French fries, French fr- PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA! Ok, French fries, French fries, Fr-pizza, pizza, PIZZA!!!!”

I actually was doing quite well with skiing and enjoying it a great deal more than snowboarding. Then I decided to go down the mountain.

When you fall while skiing, it makes for a much funnier wipe-out. Your ski’s go every which way and poles go flying through the air. There was even a time I slid right into a snow bank. By doing so I knocked the air out of myself, however, I remained upright!

Unfortunately, because of the exhaustion and havoc I put my body through the day before, I was unable to really get a good grasp on skiing. So, muscles spent and energy used up, I took the chair lift down to the café and enjoyed a beer on the patio in the sun.

Thank the Lord for hot tubs at Ruapehu Christian Camp. The only time I could move a limb without serious aching pain was when I was relaxing in the pools that Sunday evening.

While I can’t claim to be a prodigy at snowboarding and I was too tired to put real effort into skiing, I greatly enjoyed that weekend. And I can say something a lot of American’s can’t; my first time skiing/snowboarding was on a mountain in New Zealand. J