I think I got addicted to the mountains today. And no, I'm not even going to delve into the beauty and majesty of the snow or the bright skies or any of that. It was the actual snowboarding thereof, and the personal-spiritual-experience-triumph that occurred.
I was so insanely scared out of my mind to go (excited, but terrified, this being my first time snowboarding), and I voiced this concern very emphatically to Chris and Timmy (see fourth picture down under Dearly Beloved. These haggard my forceful instructors for the day) but saying "they didn't want to hear it" would be an understatement. They quite literally forced me into the car at 7:30 this morning, dragged me out of the car once we got to Timberline, shoved me in to rent some boots, and then pushed me out the door and strapped me onto the snowboard. At this point, there was no turning back. I'd spent good money on lift tickets and boots, and I wasn't going to waste that now! And by good money, I mean my dad's money. Best Dad in the World Award goes to my very own father, thank you thank you!
Anyways, my first trip down the beginners slope was quite possibly the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. Let's just say I fell a lot, and even face planted once. Twas gnarly. When I actually got to ride a little bit, there would be people in the way that I had to avoid, but I didn't know how to stop / I hadn't mastered stopping, so I would just fall to avoid crashing into them. Getting back up again after falling was a completely different story. The only way I could get up was to flip over onto my knees and get up from there, which is apparently a good way to get up, but looks and feels ridiculous.
I owe all of my successes to Christopher "Golden Adonnis" Burns. He taught me everyyything. Literally. He rode down with me every time to make sure I didn't die, and gave me advice and pointers when I did die, and helped me up when I was too pissed off to get up after dying. I think my record for best ride down the hill was only falling once in the middle of the hill, and then stopping like a normal human being at the bottom of the hill-- that is, stopping without using my face, hands, butt, or other non-braking-function parts of my body. I just stopped and stayed standing like a pro. Chris was a very proud mama bear. Come to think of it, this was the same ride down that I threw a snowball that hit Chris in the face while riding. It must be a sign. The best, most awesomest friend part is that even though I told him about a thousand times that he could, and I wouldn't care, he didn't even go off snowboarding by himself (like Timmy did, which, I don't blame him!), he just helped me the entire time.
Anyways, there is a point to this. It was not only a physical/mental "hey, I somewhat have the capacity and coordination to make it down a baby hill without falling more than once" triumph, but it was a personal triumph, too. A triumph that had nothing to do with snowboarding, or Chris, or Timmy, or anything remotely related to the event. Let me explain. Every time I fell, I got really frustrated. Sometimes I would barely go a foot without falling over... again. And flipping over so that I could stand up properly required a lot of effort and looking like an idiot, so naturally, the whole ordeal was very unwelcome. But I found some motivation. I couldn't have cared less that when I crashed, I was totally in the way of everyone coming down the slope above me. No, I found different motivation. I told myself that for every time someone had told me I couldn't do something, for every time someone had told me that I didn't mean anything, for every time someone had told me that I wouldn't amount to anything, and for every time that I had told myself these things, I was going to get up on that stupid board and ride down that little baby hill. It would seem that for this kind of motivation, the only form of success would require an entire day's (or week's) hard work, with the finale being a successful ride down a normal-size hill. But this was not the case. It didn't matter that I wasn't the best snowboarder on the mountain. It didn't even matter that I wasn't the best snowboarder on the mini slope. Just the fact that I was doing something new, and different, and difficult, and enjoying it, just to spite all of these negative thoughts and opinions, was success enough for me.
So that's why I got addicted to the mountains. I guess I mean that I got addicted to snowboarding, but actually, the whole atmosphere was a positive one for me. Even though I fell down probably a hundred times and barely improved at all, and my body already hurts and I already have some of the most gnarly bruises I've ever had in my life, I had more fun than I have in a long time. It was a kind of personal-spiritual-experience-triumph. I don't really know what I proved, but I feel like I proved something. And the people that I proved it to will never actually know, but they don't need to. All I need is that I know.
