Heelside

People generally look confused when I explain that I can’t ride heelside. Yep, I spend my snowboarding adventures staring at the mountain watching people accelerate towards me. Luckily I wear four-inch heels regularly leaving my calves with muscle memory for that position.

This is the point when the world stops to wonder why I purchased a season pass, especially coupled with the knowledge of my fear of heights. Not at all intimidating to fly down a steep mountain. Right. Except when that mountain seems to double in size and instead of appreciating the beautiful breathtaking view I’m holding my breath while visualizing somersaults off a cliff or into a tree.

I did both a Targhee. Ok, the cliff wasn’t so much a cliff as I ran off the trail and got stuck in deep snow. I had to clip out and clamber back to safety. It took awhile and my butt has never had a better workout. As for the tree, it’s tiring to be on your calves for hours. Eventually your legs stop responding. When you try to turn or stop things don’t work and combining the two ends with an arm wrapped around a tree and a beard of snow.

That was the pinnacle of embarrassment for my snow career and the last run of 08. For New Year’s I made one pathetic resolution—to take the mountain on my heels. Only four days later I had the chance to accomplish that goal. And to make sure it happened I threatened myself. On a beautiful powder day I swore to chop off my toes so I couldn’t use them if I didn’t learn heelside.

I suppose I can’t say for certain but I believe that the threat worked where the goal wouldn’t. In the presence of a kind, patient brother who gave encouragement I made that first turn from toes to heels. The view was amazing. And lasted a total of four seconds before I realized what I’d done and fell in excitement. Not the only fall of the day. I spent the rest of my afternoon repeating the cycle—turn, look, gasp, fall.

My bum was sore but my calves were not. Bruises of victory.