Ski Like A Girl!

Sometimes learning to ski means imagining flight

- Shikha Tripathi

On the slopes, just do what I told you. And when you get off the chair, remember you’re Supergirl,” says Jan, my ski instructor with whom I’ve just finished beginner lessons. Her shift for the day is over, but I’m staying put. It’s been half a grueling day at Diamond Peak in Incline Village, Lake Tahoe, and I’m just about starting to get used to the painful contraptions called ski gear strapped onto my feet. I get back on the chairlift of the practice stretch, finish the loop, and fly like Supergirl when it’s time to get off.

All the skiing footage I’ve ever seen, up until I actually try it, is one, dazzling magic show with the skier on a gigantic slide, gliding effortlessly as plumes of fresh snow fly off the sides, made all the more glamorous with slo-mo effects. So when I get an opportunity to go skiing in Nevada’s Tahoe region, I’m eager to recreate in reality the grandeur of the sport in my head.

As an outdoor person with decent hiking and climbing experience, I assume skiing is going to be a piece of cake. I don’t realise at first that, like any other outdoor sport, what looks effortless is the result of years of practice, dedication, numerous falls and multiple bruises, and sometimes even serious injuries.

The first shocker comes before I even hit the snow—with outfitting. After putting on my down jacket and puffy pants, strapping on a helmet, and feeding my height and weight into a gear payment receipt machine, I am directed to a counter where a adolescent hands me my boots. These turn out to be nearly as heavy as snow boots used in mountaineering; each weighs up to two kilos. The pair of skis that comes next leaves me staggering too. Depending on your body and the brand you use, they can weigh anywhere from four to six kilos.