Confessions of a Recovering Mind, Pt. II: A New Lease on Life
Discovering the fountain of youth: newfound passions and learning. Oh, and sunscreen.
If I were granted 3 wishes, my first wish would be to have infinite wishes. Is that legal? Or will a blue Will Smith banish me for genie-wishing misconduct?
Take 2: I wish I could time travel. Not to rewrite a math test or redo a conversation with a cute girl. (Ahhhhh. I couldn’t type that with a straight face.) Jokes aside, I’d love to rewind the clock and tighten that loose spike pin so I didn’t trip in a big race. Or berate my younger self for not resting enough so I could stay fresh for important competitions. I wish I could run it all back (literally) with the hard-earned wisdom from a decade of training, mistakes, and experiences.
My sluggish legs wobble as I sprint to the car. I win the race for riding shotgun and its righteous honour: the aux cord. I’m in a Sk8ter Boi mood, so I cue up Avril Lavigne, open the sunroof, and crank the volume. Interweaved in the song’s iconic guitar riffs are groans of embarrassment and nostalgia from my roommates. After a magical day 2 of a back-to-back-to-back snowboarding binge, we descend Crystal Mountain.
Thump thump thump. My head flops against the headrest to the road’s bumpy beat. My front neck muscles convulse with lactic acid, weakened from all the falling and neck craning. Goddamn moguls: a snowboarder’s worst nightmare. But so much goddamn fun.
The spring sun makes everything golden and amplifies the evergreen scenic drive. But my eyelids are heavy as bricks. Let me just rest my eyes for a few moments… then I’ll enjoy … th e … v i e w …
Some time passes and I awake to my roommate’s sci-fi audiobook. Half-disgusted Avril Lavigne isn’t still playing, my hour-long snooze recharges my snowboarding obsession and washes away my loathing. Without hesitation, I jam earbuds into the audio jack (call me old-fashioned), open YouTube, and immerse myself in a “snowboarding through moguls” video.
I’ve dug a rabbit hole so deep throughout dinner and my stretching routine that YouTube solely recommends me snowboarding content. Beep beep beep. I slap my right hamstring a few times and it jiggles like jello. Recovery complete. I toggle the watch: 9:00 p.m. Already? I roll up the yoga mat, double check the car is loaded with my gear, and set an alarm for 5:05 a.m. All ready — time for bed.
Putting on my sleeping mask is like sliding on a VR headset. The pitch-black is replaced by the bright, white snow. My mattress morphs into a bed of fresh powder on which I’ve fallen onto zillions of times. Beginner problems.
Confessions of a guilty Vancouverite: the first and last time I snowboarded was a decade ago. However, with too much covid-time on my hands, I ditched the runners and punched my ticket to the ski hill.
I love everything about snowboarding. The tranquil morning drive through the breathtaking backroads. Scrambling to put on clothes in the parking lot as snow dumps into the car trunk. The unmatched panoramic views. My favourite part? Being a total newbie to the sport.
I guess Will Smith gave me a pass on my first wish because snowboarding has been my time machine. I feel like I’m starring in 24 Going on 14: transported back to 9th grade, but instead of not knowing what the hell I’m doing in my first year of organized track, I’m starring down a ski run, still not knowing what the hell I’m doing.
I’ve fallen more times than I can remember. I’ve been a borderline hazard in even the “family-friendly zone,” as skiers and riders dodge my Humpety Dumpety ass. But I love it. Being the slowest is almost a nice, humbling change of pace. There’s so much to learn (“How do I not die while strapped into this thing?”), so much to ask (“why the f@#$ did you take me down this run?!), so much to try (“you want me to jump off of that @#$%%##$$?!?!”).
Despite a new sport filled with foreign challenges, as Kobe once said, “A lot of the mentality is still the same, the industry just changes.” I know what questions to ask (“What’s the cue to do this?”). I know what to learn (“Can we stick to the easy slopes to practice my technique?”). I understand what I need to focus on (fundamentals, fundamentals, fundamentals).
A leftover obsessive track mindset has me pestering my teacher for feedback. I study film like a madman. I peruse every little detail to understand what’s good, better, and best; I can’t let it rest until my good is better, and better is best.
The Black Mamba sums it up: “The similarities are there: the focus, the attention to detail, trying to surround yourself with people who are just as maniacal as you are about their craft.”
Snowboarding has gifted me with a breath of fresh air (maybe that’s just the crisp mountain air) and a new purpose. I’m reinvigorated with a ravenous craving for challenges and adventures that keeps me up at night, giddy with ferocity and fervor.
Beep beep beep. The watch reads 5:05 a.m. I leap out of bed, carb load a repulsive amount of oatmeal, and chug a protein smoothie. I start the car and queue nothing other than JJ Redick and Tommy Alter’s The Old Man and The Three podcast. This week’s guest, Channing Frye, discusses working out as a retired NBA player:
Channing Frye: “I have to work out to halfway wanting to quit, or else I feel like it’s not a workout. … I think I have to workout like I’m trying to get in shape for something. Not just workout to be working out. I have to have a goal. … I have to poke the bear a little bit on my actual health. I feel like a wanna die??? Ehhhhh. Let’s go another minute. Then I’ll chill out. It’s just how we’re wired. To never want to be like, ‘Oh, I’m tired. Just stop.’ You’ve never been taught that in your life. … But you have the option to. But then you can’t do it. Which is confusing.”
Channing, you’re preaching to the choir! A part of me will always be an athlete. It’s the only way of life I know. I need to push myself to the brink, feel pain flooding my body, lungs on fire, hands on knees, poking the bear… it’s just how I’m wired. But for what?
One icy Friday morning, I was riding the chair lift with a fellow ski bum. He spoke about his old coach’s favourite saying:
“More skill, more fun.” — Fellow ski bum
Hooold up. Wait a minute. Is that it?
I want to be the most elite snowboarder I can be. I’m humbled by the experienced shredders zooming past me. I’m hungry for the addictive satisfaction of carving through slush, the intoxicating euphoria and adrenaline and joy of landing jumps and tricks, and the need for speed that have my cheekbones sore from smiling and laughing and goofing off. Attaining alpine greatness — the reason I leap out of bed at 5:05 a.m. — is fuelled by a new, carefree mantra: more skill, more fun.
As always, Thanks to Jess.
