Ski Instructor

I was an enterprising youth. Before I was gainfully employed, I found other ways to make money: I made greeting cards, filed documents for the most disorganized secretary at my mom's law firm, set up a carnival in my backyard where I charged kids to ride the runaway wagon down our street or swing from a laundry basket attached to a tree, and I babysat. Not the kids whose parents expressed uncontrolled danger in my carnival's thrill ride assortment.  

But when I turned 16, I officially went to work. In the summer as a Prosciutto slicer, chicken salad distributor, cheese wrapper and certified cashier at La Charcuterie. And in the winter, as a Hidden Valley Ski Instructor. 

The former I consider the sourcing of my career in hospitality and food service. The latter, felt like a true calling. Skiing, education, fashion in the form of a coveted teal jacket worn by only the coolest people on the slopes, and of course, cute boys.  

Being a ski instructor in my teens was an assertion that I had reached peak maturity. I had a job earning about $200-$300 every weekend. With the instruction of Eric and Karen Cabe, successors to the ski resort dynasty, I had become a better skier. And in the proximity of people way cooler than me, I assumed I was that cool too.

Above all, there was something immensely gratifying about teaching people to ski. Getting a four-year old to balance, snowplow and then turn down a hill with their mother looking on with pride got me glowing. (And a pretty hefty tip.) Getting a group of 10-year olds who came up every Friday evening to go from awkward, wobbly skiers, to smooth swishers of the mountain, felt like I had given them status and confidence for their bus ride back to the South Hills. And one day helping a fuller middle-aged woman up after she'd fallen, a couple tears in her eyes, and convincing her that she could indeed do this felt like outsized impact for my 16-year old self. That woman did do it - and then was able to ski with her kids throughout the season.

I hung up my jacket when I graduated from high school. Like when I moved on from the ad hoc odd jobs of my youth, I knew it was time to reach higher. 

As perhaps fate would have it, I married someone who could have been the cutest ski instructor in the group. And five kids later, no jacket or re-certification included, we have taught all of them to ski. During Spring Break this year, we broke through in a big way. All seven of us were skiing together from the top to the bottom of the mountain, and it was so fun.      

It's been a lot of work for almost a decade teaching them to ski, and each year better and better. It also now takes 13 checked bags and 2 rental cars for us to get to our house in Pennsylvania to our rental out west to ski. But it's so worth it. Spring Break in Breckenridge brought five days of great skiing and snow, where Bobby and Mary (and Peter and I) conquered the highest chairlift in North America and the Imperial Bowl. Where Margaret found her confidence and stamina to ski the blacks off of Falcon Super Chair. And where the twins started stopping, turning, and then fearlessly skiing through the trees and down blue squares. The apres ski moments and the hot tub that turned a little green toward the end of the trip never felt so rewarding.

As an ex-pro, current improviser, I've collected some tips that tend to lead to success. At least, if you don't get too frustrated or tired 6 or 7 steps in. Take 'em or leave 'em ... but they worked for me. 

1- Add another layer. The last thing you want is to work incredibly hard to get them dressed, put their boots on, get them up on their skis, watch them inevitably fall down and then say they are too cold, they need to go inside. Hell no.  

2- Take breaks. Lots of them. Like all the time. But on the boots and skis, and then just have them sit down and play in the snow with you. Then get them up, scoot them to the magic carpet, get to the top and take a break again. The more you can make this about just being together and having fun, the better. 

3- French fries to go, pizza to stop, hands on your knees for extra balance. In honesty, the pizza is the hardest part for little legs to figure out. PUSH OUT YOUR HEELS!!! But once they get it, you are golden. 

4- Push them just until you and the kid reach your mutual limit. At the beginning of this ski season, one of my friends heard me screaming at Caroline or Jacqueline to try harder. I've done it to all of them - I can remember pushing 6-year old Mary to the brink in Park City. The same for Margaret a couple years later. Come to think of it though, I never had to push Bobby - the kid is fearless. 

5- 'Drive your little car down the hill' - I've had no luck teaching kids or adults the mechanics of turning, so instead I tell them to pretend they are steering a little race car. It literally gets them turning in no time. 

6- Treats pay dividends. Self-explanatory.  

7- Over celebrate the small wins. I have also been heard on the slopes cheering and praising my kids for a job well done, however big or small. Especially after pushing them to dig deeper. It's the instant acknowledgement that they are on the right track, that keeps them on it. 

8- Booking a house with a hot tub cements the concept that skiing is the best thing to do.  

9- Train. Prior to ski season and your first time teaching a small one, you need to get your quads in shape. The leg work necessary to push your french-frying tot on the flat parts of the mountain and ski with them between your legs when it gets too hard, is not for the weak of heart, mind or thigh. 

10- If all of this fails, put them in ski school.

Until next season ...  

Lo.