The snowpack is growing and ski slopes are calling. But for Sandhya Acharya and others unfamiliar with the sport and the environment, it all takes some warming up to.
Three seasons back, cornered by my family's unbridled excitement, I found myself being driven three long hours away to a place very different from the warm Bay Area I was used to. The air was frigid, and the mountains were packed with snow. It was the first time I had seen a ski resort and all I felt inside me was dread. But when I saw the delight on my kids' faces, I didn’t want to miss out. I was going up.
But first, I had to armor up. There was so much equipment to get into. Everything felt so tight. I could hardly walk. All I did that first day was learn how to stand … and fall. Maybe this was not for me. But, at the end of the day, while my sons chattered on about all the slopes they had conquered with their dad, I knew my family’s affair with the snow had just started.
Over the next few years, I graduated from being able to stand, to sliding out of the ski lift without falling, to going down greens, to even trying blues. Of course, there was no dearth of embarrassing moments. Like the time I found myself inadvertently stranded on a black run. My son wailed for us somewhere down the mountain thinking he had lost both his parents while my husband tried to push me, pull me and somehow slide me down the mountain. All I wanted to do was to sit down and cry. Was it really worth the effort?
But still, I kept going. I didn’t ski with the family — they were much too advanced for me — but I rode the ski lift with them, explored the mountains by myself, and sometimes, as I skied down the slopes, feeling the cool breeze on my cheeks, I caught myself — singing!