Dating and skiing have a lot in common. Don’t believe me? Read on to learn about my newly formed hypothesis. Will I regret publishing this in years to come? Maybe.
When you first decide to take the leap and try skiing, you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. You don’t know what you like; hell, you don’t even know what you want. You have zero technique, let alone, ahem, skill. Unless you seek professional help, you’re riffing off what friends tell you to do. Their advice may or may not be helpful, depending on how experienced they are at sliding downhill. None of that really matters right away, though, because what you’re looking for is something(one) that fits and will go out with you. Simple, right?
So, you get that new-to-you pair of skis, or maybe your tastes lean more towards snowboards. Whatever tickles your fancy. Excitement and nerves vibrate through your body before your first day on the mountain. Questions arise like, ‘Will I get hurt?’ and, ‘I hope I don’t make a fool of myself.’ There’s also the tender and naïve thought, ‘Maybe they’ll be the one.’ Oh, to be young.
Eventually, you start to get to know one another, pushing yourself and your partner to the limit. Some days are spent under blue skies, ripping corduroy, cheeks flushed from exertion. Others, tears shed when you go head over heels in the worst way possible. Fear and pain make you question whether skiing is right for you. But the love is strong, and you bravely move through injuries, getting closer and working better together.
Then, there’s attuning to the relationship’s needs. You learn how to get the most pleasure with your partner, waxing for optimal performance and getting your edges just right.
But one day, you realize you want something(one) different—someone who can take you to new places. Outgrowing young love, you don’t have that floaty feeling you crave, and your friends rave about. Instead, you’re struggling, sinking into powder other people seem to play in easily.
You’ll look back fondly on the times shared, but you know deep down they just aren’t the right mountain partner anymore. So, you say goodbye in spring and you’re in the market again by fall.
But it turns out, you still don’t know what you want and need. Sure, something with a bigger waist to carry you over powder, or perhaps the higher-priced touring set-up where you can get wild. It would be great if they had more style than your last partner, too. Either way, it’s all just more experimenting for seasons to come.
There was that time you gave a splitboard a chance—disaster, let’s not even talk about it. You tried going out with a set of Nordics, but the thrill just wasn’t there. The park skis hurt you so bad you thought you’d never open up to skiing again.
Pair after pair, you learn what you’re looking for. Eventually, what you want doesn’t come in one perfect package. You need a pair of rock skis, powder skis, touring skis, and all-mountain skis; the list goes on and on. Then, there are the accoutrements for frigid days, spring conditions, goggles for bluebird and flat light, socks, boots, bibs. The list never stops.
As years pass, you realize skis are not a one-size-fits-all situation. Your desires are too diverse for only one mountain partner.
What you were looking for wasn’t the perfect pair. You want a quiver of skis for different needs—a poly-skiing relationship! And even better, but perhaps unrealistic for your human partners—the skis all get along quite well when they mingle in the shed.
Happy ski season, Whistler!
