Don't be scared - just ski

Author: By Effin Older, Globe Correspondent

Date: SUNDAY, January 18, 1998

Page: M7

Section: Travel

I was about to do something I'd never done before. I could hurt myself. I could humiliate myself. I could fail miserably. And if all that wasn't bad enough, I was doing it in a place I'd never been, with a bunch of people I'd never met.

I had signed up for five consecutive days of lessons in the Women's Ski Week at Taos.

What's so scary about five days of lessons?

They were bump lessons. Bumps. Those humongous, immovable, white obstacles found on trails that are often narrow and usually very steep. I was about to devote five days of my life trying to conquer them.

What's more, I'd just turned 54.

So why was I doing this?

By avoiding bumps, which I've done for the last 25 years, I was stuck on groomed, beginner, or intermediate trails. Sticking to groomed trails is like learning to swim in a pool and never setting foot in the ocean.

It was time for the ocean.

As I rode the chairlift to my first morning of lessons, I pondered the two things I knew about the Women's Ski Week. I'd be skiing only with women. I'd have a female instructor. I wondered if this class would be different from a coedclass. Would these women support me through the frightening challenge I was about to undertake?

As I skied off the lift, a yellow-vested instructor skied over to me. ``What level skier are you?'' she asked. ``And what do you hope to learn this week?''

``Advanced intermediate,'' I replied. ``And I hope to learn how to ski bumps.''

``Fine,'' she said. ``You'll ski with Thea.'' She pointed to a young woman with a ponytail.

``You mean, that's it? I don't have to demonstrate my skiing ability?''

She shook her head. ``Nah. In the Women's Ski Weeks, we just ask people what level they are.''

That was the first difference, and I liked it already.

The second difference came soon after Thea introduced herself to our group. We ranged in age from 27 (Thea) to 54 (me). As it soon became apparent, despite our age differences, we all skiied pretty much on the same level.

Moments later, Thea gave us our first ski tip. ``Keep your poles out in front of you. Somewhere between your thighs and your nipples.''

My nipples! Never in all my years of skiing had an instructor used nipples as a point of reference. Later in the week, Thea asked us to imagine we were mother cheetahs stalking a gazelle. Definitely not a guy's image.

After a couple warm-up runs, Thea said, ``OK, you guys look ready. Let's find some bumps.''

Instantly my stomach knotted. Visions of Al's Run, one of Taos's most terrifyingly steep, endlessly long bump runs, shot through my brain. Earlier I promised myself that I'd put every effort into learning how to ski bumps, but I'd never ski Al's Run.

``We'll start out on Hunziger Bowl,'' Thea announced. ``See,'' she said when we got to the top of the Bowl. ``These bumps are sweet.''

I gulped. Sweet? Hunziger was steep, filled with huge bumps and went on forever. Way at the bottom, I spotted another skier who looked the size of my little finger.

``It looks steep,'' Thea said, sensing the group's anxiety. ``But once you've made your first turn, it gets much easier. Promise.'' She demonstrated several ways to negotiate the bumps, then told us to follow her, turning where she turned.

With my stomach in my throat and my heart beating wildly, I followed. I made one turn and stopped. Then I turned again. And stopped again. I looked around. The other women were descending the slope in the same way. Bump by painful bump. The snow was soft and fluffy. I reassured myself that when (not if) I fell, it wouldn't hurt. So I let myself go. I made two turns and stopped. Then I made two more.

After many stops and constant encouragement from Thea, we all made it to the bottom.

``You guys were much faster than I expected,'' Thea said. ``Come on, let's do it again.''

``So soon?'' I asked, half joking. But only half.

As the week progressed, I realized this was Thea's technique -- positive and encouraging yet always stretching us. Keeping us outside our comfort zones -- sometimes far outside my comfort zone. On the chair I asked Thea if she found teaching women different from teaching men or coed groups.

``Men are usually out front while the women tend to hold back,'' she said. ``For instance, a good way to learn is to follow behind the instructor. In a mixed-gender group, the men will always be the ones who follow directly behind me. I have to make a point of telling the women to move up.''

I had already noticed in our group that unless Thea asked one of us specifically to follow behind her, we'd all glance from one to the other, politely waiting to see who wanted to follow first.

At the top of the Hunziger Bowl, I looked down again. This time, my heart thumped a little less wildly, and I occasionally made three consecutive turns before stopping.

During the next four mornings, Thea lead us on increasingly harder bump runs. On some runs I actually felt as if I was getting it. Others, with names like Psycopath and Inferno, were just a matter of gut-wrenching survival.

Over coffee one afternoon, I spoke to Terri Koss, assistant ski school manager and supervisor in charge of women's programs at Taos. I wanted to know how the women's-only classes got started.

``It began when a bunch of local women, all good athletes, asked me to ski with them,'' Terri said. ``It soon became obvious that they lost their inhibitions with each other. They'd be loud and silly and try anything. They got rid of that feeling of needing validation.''

Did she see any differences between teaching women and men.

``Women use more intelligence and finesse,'' Terri said. ``Men use more aggression and physical strength. And they call more attention to themselves.'' She smiled. ``And if men have a problem, they blame the equipment. But women blame themselves.''

Terri continued. ``I see no support from men to men or men to women. I see lots of support from women to women.'' She paused. ``Generally, women take things slower. They have more patience. They visualize a process and try to see themselves doing a run. Men say, `Yeah, I got it. Let's go!''

``But.'' cautioned Lynne Bergeron, a Women's Ski Week participant, ``Don't assume that just because it's a class of women, it will be all warm and fuzzy. Women can be aggressive, competitive, and bitchy.'' She pauses. ``But your chances of skiing with a supportive, noncompetitive group are much greater if you join an all-women's group.''

As we neared the end of our final lesson, Thea announced she had a surprise for us. ``Follow me,'' she said.

When Thea stopped, the trail we were on looked like many others I had struggled down that week. Steeper and longer perhaps, but given enough time, I knew I could handle it.

``Welcome to Al's Run,'' she said.

Al's Run! Just five days ago, this was the trail I swore I'd never attempt. And here I was, about to do it.

That afternoon, I returned to Hunziger Bowl. Thea was right. It was sweet.