JANUARY 9, 2020 – Yesterday evening I accompanied our four-year-old granddaughter to her first downhill ski lesson. The five-week program is sponsored by the St. Paul Parks and Rec at “Geneva” (the clubhouse/ski lodge) of “Little Switzerland.” In a few weeks, the little skiers will be schussing (and turning, I hope) down “St. Mortiz,” the 60-foot ski hill served by rope tows.
When I arrived at “Geneva” just after 5:30, the place was already jammed with kids of all ages and their parents. (I looked like the only grandpa.) I waited anxiously for my son and his inimitable daughter to arrive, and soon the three of us were in the thick of it.
The staff were terrific—helpful, friendly, well-organized—and escorted us efficiently through the equipment stations for boots, helmet, skis, bindings adjustment (for now, no poles). After the helmet guy had gently adjusted the chin strap, he gave Illi a light tap on the head, talking cheerfully all the while. I said to Illi, “What do you say?” – “You’re welcome,” she said, reversing that phrase with “Thank you.” Without missing a beat, the helmet guy said, “Okay, that’s fine, I’ll say ‘Thank you’!’ and laughed kindly. I joined in. Illi smiled.
Once she was fully equipped, we congregated in an adjoining space, where a set of four instructors introduced another generation to the wonderful sport of downhill skiing.
The kids learned the parts of the ski (tip, tail, base, edges, bindings), how to put skis on, how to walk-slide with them, how to do the “duck walk” (herring bone) and the “crab walk” (side-stepping), how to balance on one foot, how to lean forward, and most fun of all, with clunky ski boots, how to hop a few inches off the floor. One of the instructors then led the kinderskiers on a “slide-through” around the inside of “Geneva.” For that exercise, Illi insisted on holding my hand as tightly as she could.
Then came the challenge: taking the whole deal outside. The ambient temperature was 11F, but the wind produced a noticeable wind chill. Illi’s left thumpkin refused to enter his designated space inside her mitten, and it took some convincing that she wouldn’t need thumpkin; that given how cold he’d be outside, thumpkin was probably better off keeping close to his brothers and sisters. I was a little surprised and a lot relieved when Illi finally bought my reasoning.
The worst thing, however, wasn’t the cold but the impossibly icy conditions. A recent thaw followed by deep-freeze had turned the surrounding area into sheer treachery. Neither the “duck walk” nor the “crab walk” worked very well. The kids slipped and slid around for about 15 minutes. Illi kept calling her skis “skates,” and after correcting her a couple of times, I realized that she was quite right—nature had turned the place into a veritable skating rink!
Back inside, she was all smiles. “Are we skiing buddies?” I asked. “Yep!” she affirmed, as she flashed a smile.
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© 2020 Eric Nilsson
