Ledger

By Damian Boudreau

The day after Thanksgiving, and I’m in a car. My head hurts. Possible reasons: Massive hangover, two hours of sleep, maybe that bag of grease from Jack-in-the-Box at 3 a.m.

Hey, why not go snowboarding for the first time?

Nick’s driving – destination: Crystal Mountain, about 60 miles from Tacoma. Arden is in the backseat, overcome with a child-like glee at the thought of snow.

A few hours later, I’m on the side of the mountain on a board, snow blowing in my face, my legs trembling, my breath shallow, my ears burning with cold. My legs give, the board skitters out from under me, and I plow face first into a pile of snow.

Welcome to the world of the beginning snowboarder.

I’ve been told the conditions are perfect: Fresh powder, light winds, good visibility.

None of that means anything to me. Just standing on two feet on this board and moving down the slope for a few yards would be perfect.

I pull myself up, and sit down. As I dust the snow off my face, I enjoy the view. A blanket of snake-like white descends in front of me, lined with rows of snow-covered trees reaching down the mountain. Below – the lodge, slightly obscured by the increasing snow, is alive with thousands of tiny dots each representing a boarder or skier.

I stand up. The board begins moving immediately, and I try to remember the instructions my friend-turned-unofficial-instructor Arden told me: Keep the board perpendicular to the slope, use your heels as a brake, bend your front leg. Given all the variables, and the fact that I don’t know what perpendicular means, my face quickly meets snow again.

A group of kids – not much older than newborn babies – speed by at close range. I watch them tear off into the distance and I feel a mixture of frustration and anger. Stupid kids.

The rest of the afternoon is pretty much the same – tired legs, sore back, freezing hands, face-fulls of snow, being showed up by 3-year-olds.

Then, magically, amazingly, through apparently no doing of my own, I find a vertical state for a few seconds… before quickly falling on my head. In time, the states of verticle last longer, intermixed with diminishing damage to my cranium.

By the end of the day, I’m pretty banged up but manage to do a few hundred feet at a time before succumbing to gravity.

End of the day – location: The bar. Arden and Nick discuss how much they love the conditions; Nick mentions that the runs seemed tracked out; Arden announces that he’d go up to the mountains every day if he could.

As for me, at the time, I’m too tired to think about the future. The remnants of my hangover commingle with complete exhaustion –not a pretty sight. I’m not sure if I’ll ever want to do this again.

The next day, I wake up and my first thought is riding on the snow, the beauty of the mountain, fresh powder.

Damn it, I’m hooked.