Yesterday, I hated snowboarding. I adjusted my boots and bindings constantly, complained about the pain in my feet. I swore, I sulked, I moped. I decided the best way to enjoy snowboarding was using a PlayStation 2, SSX Tricky and a nice warm bed with no boots on.
This morning I hated snowboarding. I fell, I nearly suffocated three times in the personal avalanches I started with my face. The instructors had all but christened me “Ca va Ron?” as they constantly inquired about my health. This afternoon, I realised that snowboards aren’t necessarily reversible, and put my bindings back the right way. This meant the long part of the board was at the front and my face was mostly above the snow. I was no longer attacking the slopes ass-backwards.
The sun broke through the nine day long snow storm, a broad grin spread above my snow-free beard. I groated merrily through virgin pouf, which I presume means powder. I buzzed, I forgot about my feet, I gibbered ecstatically to strangers on chairlifts, I laughed and whooped, soared and floated.