Snowboarding Cally Style

Before moving out here to Southern California, we had some pretty clear notions about what it might be like. After all, we do watch TV.

Hollywood is constantly portraying California culture, showing us the beautiful people riding their skateboards and rollerblades down the boardwalk - every body cosmetically perfected - and the slews of golden, towheaded surfers relentlessly pursuing the perfect wave. We expected to find cool shops on every corner selling breakfast burritos stuffed with sprouts and avocado, an intense obsession with Versace and organic food, and a much greater tolerance for diversity than we had experienced back at home. Some of these stereotypes were off... but not that many, really. Some even underrepresent the Southern Californians.

For instance, it is true that nearly every Californian we have met participates in at least one physical activity or sport, most of which involve the outdoors. In between jobs, our carpenter Todd is constantly training for the next Iron Man Competition. Each week, my friend Sarah straps six bikes to the back of her Suburban, and she and five of her closest guy friends go riding on rough trails in the mountains and desert. Our new BFF Shane likes to get up before dawn to go surfing before heading to the hospital where he is an ER resident - if the sun hasn't set yet by the time he leaves, he surfs again before nightfall. Jess races sailboats, Anni hikes the desert with Gustav, and, now that it is the winter season, Brook and Sharon fly to Utah every weekend to go skiing.

Geoff grew up skiing and can't believe I've never gone. While we lived in NC, he alternated between chastising and begging me to join him. I refused. I'm mortified to ski because my knees are so unstable that I'd surely fall victim to a torn ACL like Ryan got while she skied (she's planning surgery soon). Times have changed, though - we're in Cally now, the land of the surfboard and the skateboard...maybe I should try a snowboard. At least with snowboarding, your feet are strapped on, so your legs have next to no chance of splaying akimbo. There would be bruises...lots of them...but I wouldn't be at as much of a risk of surgical injury (at least not theoretically).

So, to fulfill Geoff's constant wish and to inaugurate ourselves as Californians, we accepted Brook and Sharon's invitation to join them on a skiing/snowboarding trip to Salt Lake City with a bunch of friends in February. Almost no one going will be a beginner, except perhaps for Joyce (our other new BFF and Shane's girlfriend), who has only gone a few times. Before the big trip, though, I decided I'd better get in some experience.

This weekend we took some of my lab friends with us up to Big Bear, where they had gotten 2 feet of the white stuff this past week. To prepare for the trip, we had to make several trips to Sports Chalet and other shops to pick up the necessary clothing and equipment. I discovered that there's a whole subculture surrounding the snow sports. Basically, if you're going to face plant in the snow, you'd better be darn cute while you're at it.

Anyway, after leaving San Diego at 5 AM on Sunday, we arrived at Bear Mountain by about 7:30. My first - and most terrifying - challenge was the ski lift. Getting on with one foot strapped to the board and the other foot awkwardly hobbling along was stressful enough. Then, however, after a deceivingly relaxing little ride over the treetops, suddenly came the dismount. While we were still too high up to be safe, we had to lift up the bar and prepare to glide off the lift in some impossible fashion. There was no time to second guess yourself. For most of the day, I couldn't get off of the ski lift without falling and crashing into Geoff. (Good thing I was wearing a cute outfit.)

Daniel, the MD-PhD student in my lab and a veteran snowboarder, turned out to be a superb teacher. His first lesson: how to stop. It turns out that going isn't the problem. It is the easiest thing in the world to point your board down the mountain and glide down gaining more and more speed as you go. Controlling one's direction and determining how that mad dash ends, well, there's the rub. After lots of practice, many mistakes (including taking a poor guy out because I actually didn't have the control I thought I did), and a whole variety of falls (the worst being the jarring sacral slam into the ice and the funniest being the pathetic backward drag down the mountain), I managed to get the basics under my belt before the day was through.

What they say is true, though: no pain, no gain. I bit it pretty hard many times (my poor tailbone) and was basically a motrin-seeking heap of soreness when all was said and done. By the end of the day, I had run out of fresh places to fall on, so, petrified of making anything worse, I finished up gently down the bunny slope.

Despite this untriumphant ending, I was proud to be able to claim that I had snowboarded the whole time and didn't walk down the mountain even once. It is true that ever since Sunday, I've been groaning every time I change positions or bend down, but, really - it was worth it...not only for the thrill of snowboarding, or even the beauty of the mountain, but for the experience of the initiation. Now we can say it...

We are Californians.