The Sweaty Jock
by Lance Lancington
Approximately midway through my first snowboarding experience, I really embraced the beautiful scenery. With my arms spread wide as I dove face first to the ground, I literally embraced the soft, powdery snow of the northern Utah mountains. It's true what our founding fathers said: it's better to snowboard on snow than on concrete (oh the wisdom of the ages).
Alas, I wasn't just falling face first during my virgin voyage down the slopes on a 5 foot long piece of polished fiberglass, I fell the other direction as well. Now that I think about it, it seems like a bad idea for me to have taken a private lesson that first morning. I mean, it wouldn't have been better for me to have taken a group lesson or even to have tried on my own first, but I think I would have fared better watching Week 17 of the NFL, and I certainly don't think I needed the aggravation of the assault charge my private tutor brought on me simply because I took all of my frustration out on her face. I did not need that most recent assault charge, but I needed even less my friend telling me to watch my mouth because there were kids around. (Notes to that friend, if she's reading this: 1) It's snowboarding, not golf. Isn't snowboarding in the X-games or something? Cursing is acceptable. 2) If you ever want a grown man to stop cursing, a) don't tell him to watch his mouth, and b) don't take him snowboarding. 3) If those f*%@ing kids are old enough to push me down and laugh as they pass me by, they're old enough to hear any kind of language.) As always however, hindsight is 20/20; I can't undo the past.
Back to the actual snowboarding...it was a blast. Unfortunately, I don't mean blast in the euphemistic "oh, it was great fun - like a party" kind of way. I mean, it was like I was standing on the mountain when the avalanche gun goes off right next to me, and I am subsequently buried in 10 feet of the "greatest snow on earth" with my only visitors being snow foxes who have come to gnaw on my icy flesh like so much kibble. Oh, it was that kind of blast alright. I got to be pretty good compared to the kid with one leg next to me who was trying to ski for his first time. I learned how to pop right back up after I fell down, and about half of those times, I didn't even fall right back down. So, I didn't hate it because I wasn't good, even if that's what my private tutor told my friends behind my back. I hated it because it sucked. And what sucked even more is that people kept calling it a sport. Snowboarding's not a sport. Football...that's a sport. You can't beat anyone in snowboarding! You can get to the bottom of the hill. You do the same thing in sledding, and you do the same thing if you fall and roll down the hill. Stop the madness! It's not a sport.
I'll sign off by repeating for my readers an exchange I had with another of the resort's private snowboarding tutors that exemplifies the insanity:
Tutor: "Oh man, I got out there at 7am this morning. This is great snow (giggles) - it's like crack."
Me: "You know what's even more like crack? Crack. And crack doesn't leave you with intense soreness in every muscle you have for the next week."
Weather report: Utah has had record snowfall so far this season.
Outlook: snowboarding still sucks.
[Editor's Note: For a glossary of snowboarding terms, including 'grommet,' go here.]
