Snowboarding Bruises

I was pretty psyched to try skiing and snowboarding while in the Tahoe area, thinking I would prefer the latter. I envisioned those days on my brother's skateboard as an omen of what was to come - gliding, sailing, and face-planting. But I was surprised to find skiing felt more intuitive and exhilarating, whereas snowboarding felt awkward and oddly captive. I didn't particularly enjoy having my body planted on a board, facing sideways.

On skis, I wasn't afraid to fall face first into a blanket of fresh powder at out of control speeds, nor did I hesitate to launch from the ski lift with giddy abandon. Yet I detested dragging my foot around on a snowboard, instinctively wondering where my ski poles were and how to stand up after falling. Skiing gave me a certain confidence, whereas snowboarding left me feeling melancholy and craving a sense of place.

I did manage to continuously nail my leg on my borrowed snowboard over and over again until I developed the most brilliant black and blue bruises that were larger than my entire hand. Their presence was my war wound, proof that I had braved the elements and had not retreated into defeat. I showed them off to my fellow travel writers with pride, never hesitating to hike up my pant leg regardless of the situation or environment. Dinner? A tour of a state building? A fancy lodge? Bruises abound. Finally, I found myself hiking up my jeans at a casino at 2:30am while looking for a slice of pizza and another beer.

My whole lackluster performance at snowboarding probably wasn't helped by the fact that I had a touch of altitude sickness which caused acute insomnia. I showed up at my snowboarding lesson at Heavenly in Tahoe on no sleep and with the sun beating down on us. I stripped off my husband's water-resistant coat (which I had borrowed, lest slide down the mountain in a black belted trench coat) and my hat during the first ten minutes.

Our snowboarding instructor Shep was very patient and managed to get me through the lesson without breaking a leg. Despite his good graces, I found myself intimidated by his lifestyle, living in Tahoe for 6 months and New Zealand the rest of the year. I wondered what it did to a person to live one long continuous winter with a snowboard attached to your feet. While I tried to maneuver around on my board without hitting innocent bystanders, I took in the views from the top, wishing for both sleep and longevity. I never wanted to leave. And then inevitably I would fall into a bed of packed snow and hear my leg slam against my board, grinning at the new bruise sure to come.

I went to bed those nights with my legs aching and the thrill of skiing down a mountain fresh in my mind. My lungs swelled and felt raw and twisted from the day's events. But despite our 17 hour days of touring the area, I never got more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, no matter how exhausted I was or banged up. But lack of sleep does something interesting to your brain, forces a spontaneous bonding experience with those around you. I came home, breaking my John Denver Rocky Mountain High streak with a luxurious 10 hours of sleep, leaving me more aware of how discontent I am in NYC and the lack of nature's fresh powder along the Gowanus.

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