The Big Question

It is extremely difficult to live in Utah and avoid the stereotypical judgment. You know: as a Utah resident, you must be an avid skier or snowboarder. Much like all Hawaiians are surfers, or everybody in Nevada is a gambler, or to be homeless in New York automatically makes you a great chess player. I’m sure there are plenty of people residing in Utah who do not fit the skier/snowboarder bill. Right? I personally wouldn’t know, but I think I’ve got some friends who don’t participate in either. Actually, now that I think about it, all of my friends have done one or the other once or twice in their lives. Maybe it’s true; all Utahns are ski/snowboard bums. So, I suppose the only real question to ask a true Utahn is: ski or snowboard?

There are some people who find joy in both sports, and they truly don’t care which one they are doing, as long as they are on a mountain of snow with something slick under their feet. And then there are those who are adamant that one was ordained of God and the other was spawned by Satan. As a purist, I sympathize with these folks; skiing is definitely divine, while snowboarding is fit only for angelic outcasts. Believe me, I’ve been on both sides. Perhaps I’m biased because I was brought up as a skier, but I simply can’t get into a sport that requires a person to bind their feet to a miniature toboggan (Yes, I have control issues).

My father tried teaching me how to ski when I was six or seven. He told me we were going to the “bunny” hill. I was sorely disappointed when, after three hours, not one bunny had revealed itself for my viewing pleasure. And my father was sorely disappointed when, after three hours, I was still refusing to let go of his snow pants. As years went by I lost my fears and began exploring techniques outside of the snowplow. My old man regained his confidence in my ability as a skier and he and I would go night skiing from time to time, a special treat, and to this day the sight of a series of lights along a ski trail makes me feel like I’m home.

For the longest time I resisted the urge to engage in snowboarding. Ultimately, I gave in to the promptings of a girl. She told me it would be fun. She was right. It was fun. But I felt so dirty afterwards. What had I done? What would my father say? After my third stint with the sport, the guilt was enough. I quickly returned to the comfort zone of skiing and renounced the foreign pleasures of snowboarding.

Dad, if you’re reading this, I swear I’ve made restitution by skiing twenty trails for every one I snowboarded. I’m sorry I allowed myself to be lured by the Sirens of the snowboarding realm. You’ll be happy to hear, though, that no matter how hard I try, I can’t hide or forsake my skier’s heritage. I promise to teach my son of the divinity of skiing and the baseness of snowboarding and hope that he can avoid following in my snowboarding boot steps.

For everyone else reading this, you have to decide: ski or snowboard? Some people may ask, “Elvis or the Beatles?” or “Harley or Suzuki?” But for Utahns there is only one question. One that could spell out your eternal fate. So choose wisely.