Bunny Slopes and One-Piece Suits

Most skiers have their first experiences on snow not long after their first steps. My wife, for example, grew up in upstate New York and learned to ski at 3. It’s in her blood like oxygen. First, she gets excited in September when we hit Sniagrab. It builds with the first mountain snowfall, followed by opening day at A-Basin. I’d say it officially consumes her after watching the latest Warren Miller film.

I enjoy it with her, but my ski experience is a trickle compared to her river. I guess growing up along the Redneck Riviera (aka. the Florida Panhandle) had something to do with it. But slowly, the way I used to get excited about SEC football and the hibernation of flying cockroaches, the ski season is becoming a part of me. It’s been a humbling journey, but one I’m glad I started. I remember one of my first experiences 10 winters ago before I moved to Colorado.

I was starting a snowboard lesson on a small mountain in New Mexico. I was nervous, already sweating profusely in the warm spring sun when my young instructor strutted up. He introduced himself as Blazer or Bunny; I can’t recall which. But it was a nickname, I remembered, he had probably earned on the mountain, in a bar or with the opposite sex.

Bunny asked me questions about my experience and what I wanted to learn. After a minute, there was a lull in the conversation. Bunny looked me up and down. I thought he was making sure I had my lift ticket or that my boots were tied. He smiled and nodded. “Dude, that is one cherry suit,” he said, finishing with a Jeff Spicoli laugh.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing a deep breath of the thin New Mexico air, the tension in my body suddenly released. I didn’t feel awkward after all. It was going to
be OK.

It took me a few seconds to realize that Bunny wasn’t complimenting my taste in apparel. Evidently, a two-tone one-piece with the attached belt cinched tight was way out of bounds—at least maybe for a beginner and a guy my age. I felt a small crack in the confidence. I had borrowed the suit from my dad’s friend. Maybe I should have scored gear from someone my age. Too late. I was stuck in the thing that seemed pretty practical before I met Bunny.

The morning didn’t get much better from there. Not that it was Bunny’s fault. He was patient with my many failed attempts to ride down the kiddy slope. And he didn’t mention my cherry suit again; although, I think it was killing him not to. I was exhausted and frustrated. I wanted to learn right then, but it wasn’t happening. That night I had a good laugh with my buddies talking about the one-piece experience. I went home to Florida thinking that was the end of my snow sports career. But a few years later I followed Horace Greeley’s advice.

That day seems like a million runs ago. Not because I’m now able to ski confidently but because with each season, skiing feels like something that’s always been a part of my life. I’ve also been thinking about buying a one-piece for the really cold days.