What I learned at a women’s ski clinic
By Bri Loveall
Cover photo courtesy of Bri Loveall
Here’s how I learned to ski: when I was 10, I took a weeklong ski class. Five years later, I told my best friend I was good enough to ski with her family. I wasn’t. I spent the next few years trailing (and falling) behind my friend, trying to match her fluid movements as she expertly planted around moguls and glided in between trees. I learned to ski by doing, and 20 years later, think of myself as an advanced rider; I can easily navigate black diamond runs, and, if the conditions are right (read: extra soft and fluffy), can manage double black diamonds.
In my mind, lessons and clinics were for people who had never skied or needed a refresher. So last winter when I had the opportunity to participate in the Mt. Spokane ladies ski clinic, aside from a glorious day of skiing without my children, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
Any lingering doubts I had dissipated the moment I stepped into the Mt. Spokane “garage.” Women arrived by the dozens, stomping boots and chatting excitedly, stopping by heavily loaded tables to grab coffee, pastries and fruit. The energy was infectious. Sunlight shone through the large windows and the day promised to be warm and bright.
After quick introductory remarks were made, everyone clambered outside for a brief warm-up stretch, which mostly consisted of laughter and accidentally bumping into one’s neighbor.
I had assigned myself to the advanced group, and my instructor—the former Mt. Spokane Ski School director—was an older woman named Maxine. She was a force, the type of woman whose voice carried down the hill. Our small group of women, about eight in all, rode to the top of chair three and awaited her instructions. After a brief conversation about what we hoped to work on (most of us said “form”), Maxine asked each of us in the group to ski one at a time so she could assess and give us feedback.
“It is not enough to make it to the bottom of the hill if you can’t do it safely,” she said after watching the whole group. I hadn’t considered that before. Just because I could navigate harder runs didn’t automatically make me a good skier. What I really wanted was the ability to keep skiing well into an older age; something that couldn’t happen if I didn’t spend the energy practicing better (and safer) form.
When Maxine asked us what our ski poles were for, we all looked around at each other. I actually had no idea. I knew they were supposed to involve planting and turning, but I honestly held onto them like they were emotional support sticks. It was one more thing I hadn’t realized I was hungry to know. We spent the morning following Maxine like a line of baby ducklings following their mother, while she shouted at us to bend our knees and rotate our torsos so we faced downhill.
At lunch, the entire clinic met back at the garage for pasta and sandwiches. Raffles were held and guests won snowboards, helmets, skis, lift tickets and other sweet prizes. The women at my table, all total strangers to me, gushed as several of us won prizes. We found a camaraderie together simply for our love of skiing, something I hadn’t realized I was missing.
As the day moved on, I heard many women speaking of their families. “This is the first time I’ve skied without my kids this season,” I overheard one woman say to another. It seemed to be true for a lot of women. I heard statements like, “I feel like a new person,” and “I’ve never felt like a part of a team until today.”
It wasn’t that this type of environment couldn’t happen in a regular coed lesson. But there is something unique about the way that women relate to other women. All day I watched as participants shared their struggles with one another: from navigating a complicated run or slushy snow to navigating relationships with children, parents, friends and spouses.
Who has not heard the phrase “You cannot pour from an empty cup”? But women especially know this is not true; you can and will continue to give even when you’re running on empty. Women’s clinics are about more than just a daylong ski lesson. They are about finding a place in the ski community to build a confidence that spills over from the mountain slopes to our everyday lives.
Find more information and sign up for this awesome event here.
Bri Loveall lives in the Inland Northwest with her family, a growing pile of mismatched ski gloves, and a deep appreciation for well-timed snacks.
