My Showdown at Showdown

My Showdown at Showdown

My Showdown at Showdown

My Showdown at Showdown

By Candyce Porter

What I did not realize was the beginner's skiing class would consist of seven- and eight-year-olds. Being 13 at the time, I thought nothing could be more embarrassing-until we had to walk on our skis like a duck. It got worse-we had to quack like one, too. It got worse-my first experience taking the rope up the bunny slope. I placed my hands on the rotating rope and got jerked forward so suddenly that my knees wobbled, and I plunged my skis onward in a very awkward display. This, however, was the only time I did not fall. Reaching the descent of the bunny slope, I realized the whole pointing my skis together rule was not slowing me down (something I learned in the beginner's class). Afraid of mowing over all the children at the bottom of the slope who somehow had been able to stop and who were also from the beginner's class, I dropped to my knees as my only means of stopping.

After not quite mastering the bunny slope, my stepdad urged me towards the Poma Lift. I got in line, and then he ditched me. I glared after him, knowing this was a "kiddie ride" to him. As I waited, I watched everyone ahead of me put the plastic device between their legs as a seat and get towed up the hill with ease. When my turn came, it was awkward at first, but as I slowly rode up the hill, I began enjoying the scenery. Then blasting me from my moment of solitude, the plastic device ripped out from under me. If I had been hanging in mid-air, my reaction to catching the device would have looked smart and agile. Instead, there I was, plastic device in hand, getting dragged up the slope on my stomach, while everyone in line got a view of this amateur. So close, yet so far, I had to let go. It was too far up the hill at too slow a pace and way too humiliating to be dragged like that. I had to remove my skis, because the slope was too steep to hike up, so to further my embarrassment, I was forced to slide on my butt all the way down the hill to only arrive again at the back of the line to the Poma Lift. I did master that, though.

Then, my stepdad decided I was ready for the "adult ride"-the Chair Lift. I was nervous and sure I would be the only one that day destined to fall off that thing. It wasn't until I got off the Chair Lift that I did just that. The chair gave my tush a push, and I was sent teetering back and forth, arms waving wildly, until I fell flat on my back. Amazingly, my skis did not click off my boots which made the fall that much more agonizing.

At the top of Yogi Hill, my stepdad re-instructed me how to slow down/stop. I had it down. I was ready. There I went. Momentum built without having to bend my knees. (That tip from the beginner's class did work, but I never needed to apply it unless I wanted to travel at the speed of light, leaving a trail of fire behind me.) I was racing down the hill. My fate that day was falling and not much else. My skis hit a patch of snow that was frozen over. My body wielded in the air for an instant before landing, when so many things happened at once. My face broke my fall on a piece of ice. One ski went that way. The other ski went the other way. Why was I missing a glove? Finally sliding to a stop, I lay there, my body twisted in horror.

After he finished laughing, my stepdad took advantage of my shocked imposition where I lay too stunned to move yet. Ripping out his trusty little camera, it literally became a Kodak moment.

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