Some friends convinced me to register for Level I Ski Instructor’s course that was taking place at Sunshine Village Ski Resort. I had previously mentioned to them my dream of retiring from an administrative job and becoming a ski instructor. They felt taking course would be a pre-retirement opportunity. Their son, Matt, was taking it, so why not join him? Continued encouragement included: my passion for skiing, I felt good when I skied, and, they felt I would breeze through course because they think I ski well. I’m so there! There’s nothing like a bit of ego boosting to get you ready for plunge.

Another major attraction for taking course was potential to become one of those phenomenal synchronized skiers in red suits – Ski Instructors. There have been hundreds of times that I’ve ridden up lifts and scanned hills for them. At local ski resorts around Banff, groups of instructors tend to go out for early morning and afternoon runs – officially their practice time to improve skills. The instructors congregate at designated spots and receive whatever instructions required for their next descent. A lead skier takes off. They are quickly followed by another skier, and another, until entire group is snaking down hill … in perfect unison, perfect form, carving smoothly and precisely down slope. What a sight! Since I’m usually on ski hill early, I hunt them down. My favourite sightings are when I’m riding up lift and I can watch them going through their paces from top – it makes me hold my breath, no blinking … nearly gives me goose bumps (I know,– I could possibly be accused of stalking with this type of obsessive behaviour). My fantasy is to join those ranks, to be part of that line, and ski just like them. (my family thinks I need to get out more and live a bigger fantasy). I’m so going to take Instructor Course. I AM TOTALLY pumped because I love skiing, I feel good when I ski, I was born on skis, I want to wear reds, and how hard can it be?

Day 1 of course - OH MY GOODNESS! Reality check! You want me to go down hill how? Looking like what? You've got to be kidding? There’s people watching – what will they think? This can not possibly be how instructors learn to ski!

I keep hearing a very loud voice barking out commands: “get lower”, “hands out in front”, “wider stance”, and “cut out fat” (now I know I’m not signed up for a weight loss program so I’m choosing to ignore that one). It doesn’t matter where I turn; those persistent orders follow me, continually replaying same instructions and sounding gruffer with each repetition. I’m guessing, since he’s instructor, this must be going somewhere. I'm just not really seeing how or where it’s going. Did I mention I’m truly hurting - in my knees, my hips and my thighs are on fire! Each run is more painful than last. I'm told it’s progress! The kids in group are stressed about passing course; I'm stressed about ever being able to walk again! (and, heaven forbid that someone I know will see me ski this way!) I think I failed to mention that I’m oldest in group – in fact I’m old enough to be everyone’s Mother (not that age is an issue, it just helps me justify why I am hurting).

I spend whole day skiing totally out of control, unbalanced, a “fish out of water” feeling. It was worst ski day I've ever experienced. Who would ever pretend to balance a wine glass across their poles, or form a picture frame or better yet, intentionally ski down hill looking like a total geek?!!

Day 2 –I hit hill early to try a few runs before class. I’ve decided if all my body parts ache by end of run, I'm using some of techniques from yesterday (possibly a sign of acquiring appropriate stance). Okay, we can adapt/adjust, try to do it their way.

The morning class is excellent; sun is out, sky is blue, snow is getting soft. When our group skis down run, I always bring up rear – it’s Mother in me, continually “gathering flock” syndrome. Now that they’ve armed my” flock” with sharp sticks and placed slippery boards on their feet, I know I’m in safest position. Just before lunch, Brent takes us on a free ski over Headwall (one of my all time favorites). The run starts with a steep drop and lands in a bowl filled with numerous moguls. I see Brent go over edge of Wall but rest of group puts on brakes and peers over. Dang! My run is feeling great and I'm going over (and I’m going to be so embarrassed if I eat it during process). I take plunge, hit moguls, utilize my awkward newly developed stance; relax and I’m loving it. That run felt really good! I even admit to Brent that maybe all this stuff does work. I'm energized, I can do this! I know I can!

To my utter dismay, this euphoric feeling only lasts for a brief period of time. Next run I seem to lose whatever I’d found and am right back to being infamous fish out of water. The whole afternoon is a repeat of Saturday. To end off weekend, we all have to do a few turns for video camera. The grand finale for day - video critiquing session with course instructors. Now there's a warm fuzzy feeling to leave on! During my few on camera turns I’d felt not bad, not great, but definitely not as bad as I now see on screen. Ouch! ! All way home (and it’s a three hour drive), I spend time beating myself up about how badly I’d done (obviously accepting constructive criticism may be a skill that I need to work on).

Sometimes there is that rare moment that causes one to reflect on those matters that are deemed important and deflect those that are not. It is a very humbling experience but a nice feeling nevertheless. I had one of those moments.

Spring time has many activities for kids. The most notable, or at least it was when I was young, is baseball. Moving into a new area and signing up Evan (10) and Dimitri (8) in winter was originally intended to have them participate in an activity they were familiar with and hopefully sidetrack wonderful memories they had in our previous home during moving transition. Signing them up came with conditions, particularly from Evan. He would play if I could become his coach. Now pressure was on me. I knew agreeing to this condition would make my already hectic life even more difficult. But there comes a time where you just do it, and live with consequences. I agreed to become a coach.

Little League was divided into 4 divisions. T-Ball, Coach Pitch, Major Minor, and Little League. Since Evan was 10 and they were unfamiliar with his abilities, he had to participate in a tryout. If he wasn’t picked, he would automatically go to Major Minor division. Dimitri already qualified for Major Minors and did not need a tryout. If he did tryout, they would’ve discovered a natural athlete who already possessed skills that surpassed his older brother. The tryout was preceded with a voluntary clinic which we participated in. Watching him from sidelines with other boys, it was apparent that he really wasn’t skilled at game. It was disheartening since this was a game that I played faithfully throughout my youth and ended as a starting pitcher for my high school team. I started to feel very guilty watching him at clinic. Why did I not spend more time with him teaching game? His frustration showed but he completed clinic. During clinic I was told by one of organizers coaches for Little League were intact, basically same ones from previous years, but there was a need for a Major Minor coach and that Dimitri could play for me and if Evan was not going to be picked for Little League he also could play for me. I agreed to do it and looked forward in seeing both of my sons play together and under my direction.

The tryout was following week at local high school gym. The gym was divided by an air wall. I observed parents sitting in bleachers while some kids were warming up by throwing to each other. On other side of air wall were coaches conducting drills in groups of 5 or 6. Parents were not permitted to observe drills. I asked Evan to go on floor and start warming up with some of kids, but he was reluctant. Being shy to begin with, coupled with not knowing any of kids; he was very hesitant to go out. It was frustrating to me since I knew he really needed practice. Finally he went on floor to throw. Just watching his poor mechanics made me feel bad again. I felt this was going to be a damaging episode to his ego and eliminate any idea that baseball was a cool sport. They called his name and he disappeared onto other side. Afterwards when asked how he did, he simply said OK.

Much to our surprise, we received a call from Frank a coach for Little League, who informed us that Evan was going to play on his team. Evan was elated, I was shocked. Never in my mind did I think he would make it.

Frank, we were told by others in league, was a tough coach who approached game with a no nonsense attitude. At this first practice, this was very apparent. He was a drill sergeant, calling kids knuckleheads, demanding their utmost attention and not tolerating a bad effort. Despite his apparent demeanor, I learned this team, Rockies, won league last year going undefeated. In fact he lost very little over years. When I asked him if could become an assistant coach, he calmly told me he already had 2 assistant coaches, maximum allowed under league rules. I could however, participate in drills if I wished. So I did. I helped out a coach named Phil, whose son was on team and one of stars, with outfield players of whom Evan was grouped with. The other coach, Kevin, was usually working with infielders.