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My earliest memory of skiing is an old picture my parents use to
have. In it, I am about three and a half feet tall, bundled up
tight, wearing the world’s largest sweater, woolen socks pulled
up past my knees, and wrapped in a never-ending scarf. My ski
poles reached the sky, their baskets were as big as my head, and
my skis had the old traditional bear trap bindings. I could lie
flat out on them, reach my arms over my head, and never have a
hope of touching the tip or tail of the ski. Now, I’m thinking
my folks must have gotten these as hand me downs; from a GIANT!
Fortunately, skiing attire and equipment has come a long way
since then and my love for the sport continues to grow.
Some friends convinced me to register for the Level I Ski
Instructor’s course that was taking place at Sunshine Village
Ski Resort. I had previously mentioned to them my dream of
retiring from an administrative job and becoming a ski
instructor. They felt taking the course would be a
pre-retirement opportunity. Their son, Matt, was taking it, so
why not join him? Continued encouragement included: my passion
for skiing, I felt good when I skied, and, they felt I would
breeze through the course because they think I ski well. I’m so
there! There’s nothing like a bit of ego boosting to get you
ready for the plunge.
Another major attraction for taking the course was the potential
to become one of those phenomenal synchronized skiers in the red
suits – the Ski Instructors. There have been hundreds of times
that I’ve ridden up lifts and scanned the hills for them. At the
local ski resorts around Banff, groups of instructors tend to go
out for early morning and afternoon runs – officially their
practice time to improve skills. The instructors congregate at
designated spots and receive whatever instructions required for
their next descent. A lead skier takes off. They are quickly
followed by another skier, and another, until the entire group
is snaking down the hill … in perfect unison, perfect form,
carving smoothly and precisely down the slope. What a sight!
Since I’m usually on the ski hill early, I hunt them down. My
favourite sightings are when I’m riding up the lift and I can
watch them going through their paces from the top – it makes me
hold my breath, no blinking … nearly gives me goose bumps (I
know,– I could possibly be accused of stalking with this type of
obsessive behaviour). My fantasy is to join those ranks, to be
part of that line, and ski just like them. (my family thinks I
need to get out more and live a bigger fantasy). I’m so going to
take the Instructor Course. I AM TOTALLY pumped because I love
skiing, I feel good when I ski, I was born on skis, I want to
wear the reds, and how hard can it be?
Day 1 of the course - OH MY GOODNESS! Reality check! You want me
to go down the hill how? Looking like what? You've got to be
kidding? There’s people watching – what will they think? This
can not possibly be how instructors learn to ski!
I keep hearing a very loud voice barking out commands: “get
lower”, “hands out in front”, “wider stance”, and “cut out the
fat” (now I know I’m not signed up for a weight loss program so
I’m choosing to ignore that one). It doesn’t matter where I
turn; those persistent orders follow me, continually replaying
the same instructions and sounding gruffer with each repetition.
I’m guessing, since he’s the instructor, this must be going
somewhere. I'm just not really seeing how or where it’s going.
Did I mention I’m truly hurting - in my knees, my hips and my
thighs are on fire! Each run is more painful than the last. I'm
told it’s progress! The kids in the group are stressed about
passing the course; I'm stressed about ever being able to walk
again! (and, heaven forbid that someone I know will see me ski
this way!) I think I failed to mention that I’m the oldest in
the group – in fact I’m old enough to be everyone’s Mother (not
that age is an issue, it just helps me justify why I am hurting).
I spend the whole day skiing totally out of control, unbalanced,
a “fish out of water” feeling. It was the worst ski day I've
ever experienced. Who would ever pretend to balance a wine glass
across their poles, or form a picture frame or better yet,
intentionally ski down the hill looking like a total geek?!!
Day 2 –I hit the hill early to try a few runs before class. I’ve
decided if all my body parts ache by the end of the run, I'm
using some of the techniques from yesterday (possibly a sign of
acquiring the appropriate stance). Okay, we can adapt/adjust,
try to do it their way.
The morning class is excellent; sun is out, sky is blue, the
snow is getting soft. When our group skis down the run, I always
bring up the rear – it’s the Mother in me, continually
“gathering the flock” syndrome. Now that they’ve armed my”
flock” with sharp sticks and placed slippery boards on their
feet, I know I’m in the safest position. Just before lunch,
Brent takes us on a free ski over Headwall (one of my all time
favorites). The run starts with a steep drop and lands in a bowl
filled with numerous moguls. I see Brent go over the edge of the
Wall but the rest of the group puts on the brakes and peers
over. Dang! My run is feeling great and I'm going over (and I’m
going to be so embarrassed if I eat it during the process). I
take the plunge, hit the moguls, utilize my awkward newly
developed stance; relax and I’m loving it. That run felt really
good! I even admit to Brent that maybe all this stuff does work.
I'm energized, I can do this! I know I can!
To my utter dismay, this euphoric feeling only lasts for a brief
period of time. Next run I seem to lose whatever I’d found and
am right back to being the infamous fish out of water. The whole
afternoon is a repeat of Saturday. To end off the weekend, we
all have to do a few turns for the video camera. The grand
finale for the day - the video critiquing session with the
course instructors. Now there's a warm fuzzy feeling to leave
on! During my few on camera turns I’d felt not bad, not great,
but definitely not as bad as I now see on screen. Ouch! ! All
the way home (and it’s a three hour drive), I spend the time
beating myself up about how badly I’d done (obviously accepting
constructive criticism may be a skill that I need to work on).
I will not be beaten! I will succeed! I skip work for a couple
days prior to the next part of the course. First one on the
hill, last one off; I even take a private two-hour lesson. Jen
Collison, (a Level 3 Ski Instructor at Sunshine) proves to be a
patient ”saint on skis”. She assists me with developing the
skills I need to survive the course. Jen, who is incredibly
tolerant; breaks the skills into small pieces and I am able to
ask and ask and re-ask anything that is not sinking in. This was
so much easier to do when you’re one on one versus being in the
class situation where the rest of the group is rolling their
eyes because you're so dense and can't get it. I can tell that
life experiences, (or interpersonal management courses), have
taught her to control her facial and body expressions to
convince me I’m not frustrating the daylights out of her. I
spent the rest of the time focusing on what she’s taught me;
practicing, practicing, and (did I mention) practicing! Every
now and then, I am discouraged because it doesn’t feel good, I
lose the rhythm. Never mind, I’ll just do a fun run. But on my
fun run, I can’t find my happy place (where/how I use to ski).
It’s gone, and the new style is feeling way too stiff. Solution
- turn up the tunes, tuck it, get over it and try again.
My daughter and her boyfriend come up one afternoon to assist my
progress. Kalie is a devout snowboarder who has only been on
skis a couple times. Mark is a ski racing coach and had recently
certified as a snowboard instructor (I think the daughter had a
bit of influence in that). We rent skis for Kalie and hit the
slopes. I made her “balance the glass”, “get down lower”,
“create a wider stance” and “get those hands up”. She willingly
co-operates. Mark’s job is to criticize my teaching techniques
and NOT adjust anything Kalie was doing. Previously, he had
tried to teach her how to ski. That event had ended with Kalie
plunking herself down in the middle of the run and refusing to
move any farther – I am trying to avoid a repeat scenario. By
the end of the afternoon, we are making our way down blue runs -
incredibly slowly - but with the style and grace of a beginner
skier. What success!
Day 3 – There is a couple inches of powder in the morning. We
are at the hill early again to get those extra runs in. I ski
with Matt; he’s a twin tip free style skier whom I thoroughly
enjoy skiing with. He pushes me hard, makes me take jumps and
try tricks that I’d normally bail on. We decide to do one free
run and then get serious and practice the stuff we’re trying
desperately to perfect. On our first run, we’re making fresh
tracks, carving hard, flying down the hill. I glance over my
shoulder and Matt is on my tail, completing the figure eights …
BACKWARDS … as fast as I’m going forwards. It’s a beautiful
thing! We skip the serious runs and continue carving. I’m
elated, it’s such a good feeling … I can do this and I will
survive!
The morning class goes not bad (not yet a happy place, but not
bad). Just before lunch, I do an extra run with Patrick and a
few others to see how we are progressing. Egad! You want me to
get rid of what? How can that be? It’s never been mentioned
before (maybe there were too many other things that needed work
and this was left behind - literally). Yet another flaw in my
stance - obviously one I’d worked on too hard and the result was
… I now skied with an extremely exaggerated pose. A pose that I
needed to get rid of by tomorrow! This will not make me cry
(although it is definitely a prime opportunity to switch from
goggles to mirrored shades, focus on focusing, and work rapid
eye movements). Is there no end to this adapting/adjusting?
During day three, we also have to demonstrate teaching a lesson
(applying all the skills we’d learned). I’ve been working on my
lesson plan all week; I’ve practiced and rehearsed it, tested it
out, even brought treats to entice the pretend students.
However, the section of the hill I am assigned to use today is
nearly flat – we’re talking gaining minimal speed if you pushed
really hard on your poles. Obviously, the skills I'd previously
selected and practiced are not going to work, and here I am,
stumped in front of the group (brain scrambled and trying
desperately to reconfigure prior to meltdown). The day feels
like an emotional roller coaster.
By evening, I convince myself that I will phone Patrick in the
morning to tell him I‘m not coming. I'd completely maxed out on
frustration, hated the thought of having to work at skiing (let
alone ever teach anyone to ski), and just am not confident that
I’ll succeed. My supportive family members tell me to suck it
up, get up there! They're always behind me, totally encouraging
and emphatic to my needs – NOT!!!
Day 4 – Today I bring the tunes with me. The whole group does
some free runs together. One of the tests on the final day, is
the ski off. The tension for this has been building from the
beginning of the course. The mere mention of the ominous “ski
off” turned student’s faces tense and the frowns would appear.
It looms threateningly ahead - just down that next run. I
naturally assume my mother hen position at the back of the pack.
I admire the guy that goes first – what courage! One person at a
time; the group watches each skier take their turn. Occasionally
we discreetly glance at the stern faces of the instructors.
Definitely no clues from them as to how we have done – they
appear focused, converse in hushed voices and scribble notes
after each skier. My turn. Prior to the ski off, I have mustered
up a new attitude - with a bit of a beat. My new outlook
dictates that although I am barely comfortable doing what I am
doing, it’s too late to change anything else, so I am just going
to have fun with it and bee bop down the run. Away I go. Now
there is one more teaching lesson to work through and the course
is done, the marks are tallied. We wait nervously for the report
cards to be distributed.
I have this deal with Matt for revealing pass/fail marks when we
receive our results. The deal is if I didn’t tell him, he is not
allowed to ask in the group setting. Reason being, if it is bad
it might not be a pretty scene and I’d rather control composure
until we were out of sight. I am reluctant to open mine. Some
people had already started high fiving and pounding backs. I
lean way back, trying to stay out of the main flow of activity,
take a deep breath, and pull out the top corner of the paper.
There is a Pass grade for skiing, and another Pass for teaching.
I check it again just to be certain … they definitely read PASS!
WOW, from everything I’ve been through – this is a total shock!!
I could feel Matt glancing over and from his grin I could tell
he’s happy, but a bit hesitant as to how I’m doing. High Five
Matt!! I’m on my way to getting the red suit.
Brent Hahn and Patrick Cais ran an excellent course. They were
so patient and I know there were numerous times when they would
have quite willingly choked me and thrown me over a cliff with
my continual “show me”, “what?”, “do that again!,” and my all
time favorite, “I don’t understand this!”.
Red ski school suits have been the traditional color since the
70's. It is a visible color for clients to follow and is easily
recognizable on the hill. It is the CSIA National Ski School
color, and the majority of ski schools use it. The CSIA is the
longest running non-profit organization in Canada, over 65 years
now. It has a membership of 23,000 and growing.
About the author:
Loves to ski and has hopes of retiring on the hill. Would love
to pass on her passion for the sport and any/all learned
techniques that will make the trip down the run a painless
experience.
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