http://www.RealAdventures.com/vacations/185070_articles-maine-acadia.htm Check out some of the recently updated travel & vacation listings on RealAdventures. Be inspired, go explore! en-us Sun, 12 Oct 2008 21:48:04 GMT Sun, 12 Oct 2008 21:48:04 GMT http://www.RealAdventures.com http://www.RealAdventures.com/vacations/185070_articles-maine-acadia.htm 100 100 http://www.RealAdventures.com/listings/1024481_Snow-and-Sadomasochism http://www.RealAdventures.com/listings/1024481_Snow-and-Sadomasochism Articles Maine Tue, 07 Nov 2000 00:11:00 The first day of snowboarding possibly one of life&8217s most painful experiences. -
The first day of snowboarding possibly one of life&8217s most painful experiences.


by Erik Kortz

The first day of snowboarding possibly one of life&8217s most painful experiences.

I have never seen one human being so entirely covered in bruises I felt like I&8217d just stepped out of the ring with Tyson. Hell, Tyson can&8217t hit half as hard as some of those mogullooking ice lumps that grace the mountains of the northeast corner of the U.S.

After seven years of skiing, I&8217d finally decided to try my hand at the sister sport. &8220It&8217s so easy to learn, you&8217ll be carving in no time,&8221 my friends assured me. They conveniently left out the part about being battered, thrashed &8211 thoroughly pummeled, even &8211 by the mountain.

My first time out was at Sugarloaf in Maine. We&8217d just had an enormous dump the conditions were marvelous. Brandnew rental strapped to my feet, I looked up at this mountain looming up the fresh bright morning air, challenging me, daring me to ascend. I&8217d beaten the mountain on skis now I would on a snowboard.

My brother, then an instructor at Ragged Mountain, told me he&8217d have me turning by midmorning.

Before we ever got to that point, he got bored with the lower lifts and we proceeded up the main lift to the summit. I then spent the next two hours of my life alternatively sideslipping down the mountain (still being completely unable to successfully execute a heelside turn) or bouncing my face off of the steep sections, which the morning traffic had conviniently scraped clean of any snow, as I rolled downhill, a flailing mass of limbs dragging along 153 centimeters of wood and composites.

The toeside and I were getting along fine I just had a nasty habit of catching my edge when I shifted my weight to cut back heelside. Catching an edge is like hurling your head into the ground fullforce, only unexpected I imagine that it's similar to being clipped from behind by a threehundredpound linesman.

And the next morning, though I succeeded in mastering the basic turning technique, even strapping on my board seemed like torture. The sunny promise of hours of voluntary abuse was like a vision of sugarplums dancing in my head.

And as soon as I got the hang of turning, of course, I headed to the terrain park to continue injuring myself there in floundering attempts to catch air.

I must really be a sadomasochist, because I haven&8217t worn a pair of skis since. And I haven&8217t really gotten much better at snowboarding either &8211 just more used to the selfinflicted punishment. There&8217s just no feeling like flinging myself into the air at high speeds and contorting my body into spins and grabs that inevitably make for evermorepainful crash landings.

God, I love this sport!
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