More Painful: A Bad Breakup or Snowboarding?

Snowboarding is a bit like love. Before working out the kinks and existing, peaceably, in a relationship- with the right mountain or person- you must first experience abject failure, frustration, humiliation, and heartache. I'm not sure why. I didn't make the rules. I'm just relaying experiences, and from what I can gather, getting dumped on your a** goes with the territory in both love and learning how to snowboard. In fact, the pain felt during Day Two of snowboarding (Hi, have you met your coccyx?) versus catastrophic break-ups ends in a draw. Still, in both cases, it's well documented that wipeouts eventually lead to something better, a personal triumph over what was once thought impossible, like, say, making it to the bottom of the bunny hill with all your bones in tact or finding someone special who appreciates your collection of vintage gumball machines. rnThe readers of my site, OmGal.com, bless them, witnessed an early account of my second-ever experience on the slopes, which could only be described as a complete and utter meltdown. Similar to the best, most dramatic break-ups, my mountaintop meltdown was ugly, self-indulgent, and downright pitiful. Want to see any gifted athlete (surfers and skateboarders excluded) reduced to a pile of uncoordinated limbs and seething frustration? Stick 'em on a snowboard! My S.O. had the experience of learning to snowboard alongside a four-time Olympic gold medalist (the sport and identity of this athlete shall remain undisclosed to protect the innocent), and the guy was, by far, the worst of the group, proving that certain skills simply don't translate across sports. Apparently, neither does sanity because I'm a relatively well-adjusted person, and Day Two on the slopes was enough to onset the aforementioned panic attack. rnDay Three, however, brought renewed hope and possibility, arriving in the form of a private lesson at Stowe, where my instructor's first direction was to "stand on the board, and act normal." (Had my readers given him the heads up that he was dealing with a wack-job?). I’m pretty sure I outright guffawed at the simplicity of his instruction; however, I also immediately realized that this young, laid-back teacher with the straightforward approach was my perfect learning match. I simply wouldn’t be overwhelmed this time, with an instructor who could distill a colossal challenge into such a manageable task as standing. Moreover, the fear of my past wipeouts was beginning to dissolve, and the bruises to my battered ego were on the mend. On a physical level, I just needed to reacquaint myself with standing in a relaxed, confident, and balanced manner, then translate that natural ability onto the board, while moving down a mountain—the action for which it was designed. rnDuring the remainder of our two-hour lesson, the clouds continued to part. Clarity ensued. I didn't master the sport in one morning, but something clicked in my brain, reducing the huge, mountain of an endeavor into a series of small, discernible tasks. We tackled each one with the same mindful approach, placing it in a context that I could envision. Getting off the chair lift? When you sit up, pretend you’re sitting up out of a chair. The phone rang, and you're just going to stand up and go answer it. Piece of cake. Telling the board what to do? Move the board with your feet. Keep your arms relaxed and calm. If you use your arms to try to direct the board, it gets confused. Brilliant! rnBy lunch, I was thoroughly enjoying myself, with only minimal terror creeping in when colonies of five year-olds buzzed by in their group lessons. Be aware of them, but don't look directly at them. Turns out, the yogic concept of drishti applies in snowboarding too. If you gaze at something, your energy moves in that direction. Gaze at the unwieldy skier in your path, and it's lights out for both of you; keep your head up and focus your intention on your destination, and you'll arrive there with ease. By the afternoon, I was luxuriating on the chair lift, thoroughly enamored by my surroundings. I even grabbed my iPod for the ride up the mountain, which happened to be playing an album by the artist Bon Iver, a play on the French words "bon hiver," meaning "good winter." Turns out, the album was written and recorded during a solitary winter spent in a Wisconsin cabin following break-ups with both the artist's former band and girlfriend, creating an artful example of how even the most painful experiences can be productive and, ultimately, beautiful. rnAs I looked up at the big, blue sky, my legs dangling below with snowboard happily attached, breathing in the crisp, triumphant Vermont air, I thought to myself, 'A good winter. Why, yes, that's exactly what it is.'