Flight
People will ask you about past events because they want a little insight into something they couldn't experience. Whether this is about a trip, a single instance, or a prolonged period of time, there really isn't a way to describe something and have someone get the whole feeling and understand its entirety. You can tell the who, what, when, where, and how... but so many times, that isn't nearly enough.
Friends will ask me about snowboarding. How do you explain something like that? I left home in high school to live in VT. From there I went to CA. Every summer for nearly a decade was spent at Mt Hood. Every move was made in an attempt to
progress. It was all chosen and done because of a deep passion. One I was lucky enough to find at a young age. There is something magical about the feeling of weightlessness. We've all wished we could fly. Even when it is momentary, the feeling of flight can change a person. It changed me and so I had to follow it.
Unfortunately, I'd lost sight of what I loved for years while competing. On the day of my last halfpipe contest, I was so nervous. I'd made all the cuts to be one of 12 girls in the running for the Olympic team. I couldn't get it out of my head that the odds were against me making the cut. Look at anyone else's accomplishments and it was obvious a miracle would have to happen. While standing at the top of the Breck pipe, I couldn't get my heart to stop thumping. I remember thinking, "just calm down," but I couldn't. Everyone was suggesting that I line my run up differently, and all I could think was that I didn't want to pass out from anxiety. I wasn't in the right headspace to even be standing there let alone competing at that level. I was lost in my mind and it ruined me mentally and emotionally. I dropped in and third hit spun frontside five, a stock trick meant to build confidence. Because I popped too hard I landed too far down the wall. It killed my speed and I decided I was done. I hopped out on my backside wall, threw up the X meaning to stop watching that run, and I promptly got the hell out of there. If you aren't enjoying what you are doing, then why do it?
After I quit competing I moved further away and into
the mountains to play in the powder. Sometimes a person has to remember how to be carefree. Riding powder is at the opposite end of the spectrum from competing. Aside from a buddy or two, no one is there to watch or judge. You could do whatever your heart tells you to do, make yourself smile and realize that happiness is all that matters.
It took me over two years to drop into another half pipe. Sometimes you have to cut things out of your life that dramatically. I knew if I rode pipe again, I'd question my choices to quit but deep down I knew it was right. On a day trip to Hood in the summer my friend and I hiked half pipe all day. Turns out most of my old friends and coaches were there for training. All that made for the best riding day imaginable.
That was about 2 1/2 years ago. Just last week, for the second day in five years, I dropped into a half pipe. This time I wasn't nervous, anxious, or scared. For my first run I was completely alone. Quickly I remembered how I fell so in love. I probably hiked it a dozen times, each time my understanding of where I went wrong earlier in life became clearer. I wasn't concerned with what anybody else thought anymore. This wasn't about any body else. It is about how something makes you feel. It's very simple, and you don't need someone to pat you on the back to validate what you're doing. If it makes you happy, that should be enough.
Friends will ask me about snowboarding. How do you explain something like that? I left home in high school to live in VT. From there I went to CA. Every summer for nearly a decade was spent at Mt Hood. Every move was made in an attempt to
progress. It was all chosen and done because of a deep passion. One I was lucky enough to find at a young age. There is something magical about the feeling of weightlessness. We've all wished we could fly. Even when it is momentary, the feeling of flight can change a person. It changed me and so I had to follow it.Unfortunately, I'd lost sight of what I loved for years while competing. On the day of my last halfpipe contest, I was so nervous. I'd made all the cuts to be one of 12 girls in the running for the Olympic team. I couldn't get it out of my head that the odds were against me making the cut. Look at anyone else's accomplishments and it was obvious a miracle would have to happen. While standing at the top of the Breck pipe, I couldn't get my heart to stop thumping. I remember thinking, "just calm down," but I couldn't. Everyone was suggesting that I line my run up differently, and all I could think was that I didn't want to pass out from anxiety. I wasn't in the right headspace to even be standing there let alone competing at that level. I was lost in my mind and it ruined me mentally and emotionally. I dropped in and third hit spun frontside five, a stock trick meant to build confidence. Because I popped too hard I landed too far down the wall. It killed my speed and I decided I was done. I hopped out on my backside wall, threw up the X meaning to stop watching that run, and I promptly got the hell out of there. If you aren't enjoying what you are doing, then why do it?
After I quit competing I moved further away and into
the mountains to play in the powder. Sometimes a person has to remember how to be carefree. Riding powder is at the opposite end of the spectrum from competing. Aside from a buddy or two, no one is there to watch or judge. You could do whatever your heart tells you to do, make yourself smile and realize that happiness is all that matters. It took me over two years to drop into another half pipe. Sometimes you have to cut things out of your life that dramatically. I knew if I rode pipe again, I'd question my choices to quit but deep down I knew it was right. On a day trip to Hood in the summer my friend and I hiked half pipe all day. Turns out most of my old friends and coaches were there for training. All that made for the best riding day imaginable.
That was about 2 1/2 years ago. Just last week, for the second day in five years, I dropped into a half pipe. This time I wasn't nervous, anxious, or scared. For my first run I was completely alone. Quickly I remembered how I fell so in love. I probably hiked it a dozen times, each time my understanding of where I went wrong earlier in life became clearer. I wasn't concerned with what anybody else thought anymore. This wasn't about any body else. It is about how something makes you feel. It's very simple, and you don't need someone to pat you on the back to validate what you're doing. If it makes you happy, that should be enough.
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