‘I Tried A New Sport At 30 And Learned Some Valuable Lessons Along The Way’
Growing up in Iowa, I didn’t have many opportunities to try downhill skiing or snowboarding. (Though I did slide around on small Midwest hills on our yearly high school ski trips, where I saw my friend tear his meniscus—the first of several harrowing winter sport experiences to come.) The handful of times I’ve tried to learn to ski with friends since, I’ve gotten in way over my head on an intermediate run. The result? I end up crying, and at times, walking down the mountain.
But something in me still wants to keep trying, especially now that I live in Colorado and my good friends and partner all snowboard. I have this idyllic vision of us spending a weekend in the mountains, enjoying the snow and après scene, sans tears and broken bones.
I’ve realized that learning from them is a no-go (though my partner did a great job on my first snowboard outing last year, I feel bad slowing him down). I need professional help and regular, consistent practice. So, I committed to three days of snowboarding lessons at Breckenridge Mountain, overwhelmed by the challenge ahead but hopeful that learning from an instructor would be a step—er, slide—in the right direction.
My instructor started our lesson with a warm-up, where I practiced super-basic body movements while standing on the board.
I felt a little frustrated, like this was a bit remedial for me when we had only a few hours together! But I know from my sports background that warm-ups are good not only for waking up the muscles you’ll engage but for building confidence in what you’re about to execute.
It was my first lesson in letting go of expectations for what the day should look like. Once we got on the bunny hill, we practiced toe and heel edge turns. I’d done these before, but my instructor’s cues on where to lean my front leg unlocked a much smoother turn, and I wasn’t falling as often. He’d hold my arm to control my speed, which made me less fearful of falling. When I advanced to the slightly steeper bunny hill runs, I couldn’t make it down without wiping out.
“Isn’t it fun when you get to go a little faster?!” my instructor asked. “Yeah!” I said, but I didn’t mean it. I was scared. That’s when I decided to give myself permission to kind of hate it and do it anyway, rather than shame myself for not being psyched. While I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself, I was becoming less averse to speeding up and falling, which seemed like a win, since I was going to be doing a lot of that over the next few days. And no tears! Progress!
The real shift came on my second and third days with an instructor, so I’m glad I stuck it out on day one when I wasn’t feeling it.
I was stoked to be working with a woman this time. She took me up higher on the mountain, which I was nervous about at first, especially because in the past that had meant getting on a blue run I definitely wasn’t ready for. But at Breckenridge, there are plenty of long green runs that were perfect for my skill level, and it was so much more fun to do longer lines down the mountain versus quick bunny hill runs to magic carpet rides over and over.
After falling a few times and unnecessarily calling out “Sorry!” each time my butt hit the ground, my instructor instituted a new rule: “No apologies unless you run into someone. Falling is nothing to be sorry for!” This statement put me at ease and made me realize she wasn’t frustrated with me. I wasn’t taking longer than normal to get the hang of this. Wiping out was part of the process—even on the second day—and I was being too hard on myself.
She helped me develop a rhythm and simple directions I could repeat to myself to guide my turns: Raise your front toe, then back toe, slide, then raise your front heel, then back heel, slide, repeat. I started whispering “toe...toe...heel...heel” to myself as I was winding down the mountain. She reminded me to drop my shoulders and relax my hands. She never pressured me to go faster. The focus was on improving my turns, and if I wanted to do that slowly, that was perfectly fine.
She gave me easier and harder run options as we made our way down the mountain. By the end of the second day, I was opting for the slightly steeper ones, and feeling confident. On the third day, when we parted, I went down the mountain on my own for the first time (A really big deal for me!). I met up with a friend who was skiing and we took a few laps on the greens. I could hardly believe it, but I was actually having fun! I couldn’t wait to come back. It was the feeling I’d been hoping for every time I’ve tried to ski or snowboard.
I’m extremely competitive with myself, and I’d like to think I’m fairly athletic, so the toughest part about struggling to learn a new sport is the ego punch.
Ski mountains are an intimidating place when you feel you don’t belong. And it’s hard to stay confident as you’re constantly dusting snow off your butt. Lessons certainly improved my snowboarding skills, and while I’m still nervous to try harder runs, I feel like I finally “get it” and something clicked. I’m not exhausted after one run from tensing my body in preparation to fall every other turn. I can spend future days on the mountain mostly having fun rather than mostly suppressing anxiety. But it took several days of pushing through the thought, “Maybe I’m just not good at this and never will be, and I should quit” to get there.
I’ve found peace in how slow and frustrating the learning process can be, which has made me more open to trying other sports and activities for the first time, too. I’ve discovered other ways to enjoy a day on the mountain that aren’t about my performance, like the happy, exhausted, satisfied feeling you get after a full day outside, pushing yourself. And I’m better at rewarding myself simply for trying, rather than meeting a goal—after my series of lessons, I met up with a friend at my accommodation, Gravity Haus Breckenridge, to soak in the hot tub—a well-deserved treat!
Who says you can’t bask in the après-glow even if you only do beginner runs? As someone who tends to lean into the activities they’re already pretty good at, learning to snowboard has taught me there’s a different kind of confidence that comes from actively pursuing something that doesn’t come naturally to you, something a bit softer and quieter, but maybe even more rewarding.
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