It all started when I was 12 years old. After being forced to snap on some skis and make my way down a tiny slope while the words “pizza” were being shouted at me by my mother, I decided the ski life was not for me. 

Cut to roughly eight years later, with a sad excuse of a mountain and a snowboard rental being connected to my feet. My “Cloud 9” dreams were starting to become reality. 

After a short lesson from my dad, I began the descent down the kiddy hill. With a few more tries and another visit to the mountain, I was ready for the big guns. 

I traveled down to the ski lift, struggling to plant myself on the chair while maneuvering my board to sit comfortably on that death trap. The trip up was filled with anxiety about falling and admiring the view. Finally, I made it to the top. 

After a very embarrassing descent from the chairlift, I wobbled to the beginning of the hill. My dad gave me a pep talk and we were off. 

The first few minutes were incredible. That is, until I decided to stop leafing down the hill.

Chaos erupted.

My dad shouted for me to turn. The trees zipped by. The next thing I knew, I felt as if I was flying through the air. With a 10-out-of-10 landing, I sat comfortably in the snow, giggling as my dad stood at the top of the ledge I had just flown from. 

Unlike me, he was angry I had been just five inches away from crashing into a tree. 

That moment marked the last time I went snowboarding that season, in 2023. 

Now, it is 2025. Last weekend, when I visited home, my grandpa requested for us to go skiing and snowboarding as a family. I was hyped — it was my time for redemption. 

Only now, I had my father’s board rather than a rental. I felt more professional, more legit. We got to the mountain and geared up. It was game time.

I sauntered out of the lodge with my snowboard in hand, feeling ready to take on the day, until I had to clip myself in. It turned out it was a lot harder to stand still on a freshly waxed snowboard. 

After being laughed at by everyone around me, I successfully clipped in and stood up. Positioning myself down the hill, I began my descent. 

In the words of my grandpa, “Skiing and snowboarding is just like riding a bike.” 

I almost crashed the last time I got on a bike. 

After getting a few feet down the kiddy hill, I fell. With my mom recording, I got back up and then I fell again.

This repeated. 

Eventually, my dad could not handle watching me disgrace the Soderlund name any longer, so he heroically began teaching me his ways. With my heels digging into the ground, the movements started to flow into my muscles.

That is, until he abandoned me so he could go down the bigger hill. 

“Keep leafing,” were his final words before leaving me alone. 

So I did just that, but failed miserably.

My final descent began, and I was preparing to end on a good note. The experience I gained that day would not be lost. I veered right and then left, sticking with the techniques my dad had taught me. 

The board caught an edge and I fell into the rock-hard snow. Face falling first, hands flailing, I went down. My feet reached behind the back of my head, which made me realize I no longer possessed my old levels of  flexibility.

Moments later, a kid flew by while laughing and pointing at me. 

Traumatized and humbled, I pulled myself together and sat up. My little sister stood at the bottom of the hill laughing, along with a few parents who were attempting to cover their own laughing faces.

I deserved a check for the performance I had given. 

Gaining courage, I went down the hill one final time after being severely humbled by my fall. The day ended with me kicking back my feet and watching other skiers and snowboarders go down the bigger hills. 

Mark my words, I will become a pro snowboarder. I will get the last laugh.

Soderlund can be reached at [email protected].