Hawaiians in Whistler

This summer, I joined a "get a job" group for women who used to have nice careers who took time off to be the primary parent for their kids and now want to return to the paid workforce. There are nine of us and we are lead by Julia Freeland, who created the curriculum for this program from her own experience relaunching her career after her divorce. She is as serious as a heart attack and is a true feminist as she is bringing other women along instead of closing the door behind her. She is guiding us through the work world where we used to blossom and now have lost touch with the culture, practices, and lingo.

Here is an analogy: 

Imagine being a really awesome skier and then you moved to Hawaii sixteen years ago. Black diamonds were where you used to thrive. For sixteen years, you haven't seen snow, let alone gone downhill. Can you still ski? You might be a little out of shape compared then, but you aren't a couch potato. Instead of skiing, you have been swimming, snorkeling, rowing, doing yoga and surfing, and you have a beautiful tan. 

The first time you get back on the mountain at Whistler, you are going to fall and get some powder up your nose. For the first day, it is best to stay off the black diamond runs until you get your confidence up so the mountain doesn't totally kick your ass and tear your ACL. You have to get used to the newly designed skis, which have evolved since you last skied. The concept of going downhill is the same, but your muscle memory buried away needs some refinement.

After a day or so on the greens and easy blues, you get your groove back. All of that swimming, surfing and snorkeling has built up your core strength, which is really much better than it was sixteen years ago. You never really had great upper body strength until you started rowing. All of those yoga classes have improved your balance, so when you hit a few bumps, you can quickly adjust and regain your balance. After three days at Whistler, you are skiing off the Harmony lift and doing Seventh Heaven. After five days, you are killing it in the Whistler Bowl.

Ta da! This is just like getting a job after being out of the workforce for sixteen years, right?

Not exactly.

Unlike real world skiing where you can walk up and buy a lift ticket, in this analogous world, you need a special invitation to ski. You get one run down the bunny hill each day where everyone in the Village gets to see you and then the lift ticket guys decide if you are ready for the real mountain. If you are lucky, someone will see you and tell the lift ticket guys you can do it. Most people won't watch, and some who do are waiting for the crash. 

"But I used to be great!" you say after you face plant and scrape the snow off your goggles. "Really! I am also a terrific swimmer and my yoga is fantastic. I know where to find sea turtles when I snorkel!" 

And they laugh. 

"Why would you want to ski when you can do yoga and snorkel all day?" they say. "Maybe you should go back home. You don't belong here."

You go back to the lodge and cry. You Facetime your friends back in Hawaii. Some wish they could go to Whistler with you. Others think Hawaii is just fine and wonder why you want to leave. Others don't have the option to ski. "I tore my ACL last time I was at Whistler," says one of your friends.

Unlike your Hawaiian activities which have deep spiritual and social benefits, this skiing gig pays. With the additional income, you could pay for:

(Check all that apply)

___ Your kids' college education

___ Your mortgage because your adorable husband wants to quit his job

___ Your divorce from your deadbeat, boring, addicted, adulterous and/or abusive husband

___ A nice vacation because even if you live in Hawaii, the sunshine gets old
___ Your parents can't ski anymore and need financial support
___ Your own retirement

___ Damn it, you don't need the money. You love snow and you love to ski. Can't that be enough?

___ Other

You think of Mrs. Ryan, your ski instructor from the 1970's. You remember hearing people whisper behind her back "She doesn't need to ski, but she does!" like it was some kind of miracle.

So you go out there on the bunny hill day after day, being judged for not only your bad form but also your sixteen year old ski jacket. You look at these Millennials who weren't even born when you were doing moguls. Your husband travels from Hawaii to Whistler during the week. His skills are in top form. Your kids are allowed on the mountain because they are learning to ski. You are left behind and alone until the slopes close. Then your family comes home and tells you about the runs they did today, snow conditions, and how many times they nearly fell but didn't. You listen, but don't contribute.

After dinner you take a walk. "You know, I look great in a bikini," you say to people walking by who are bundled up so that only a tiny part of their cheeks are exposed. You can hold your own apres-ski, but apres-ski won't pay for college.

"You know, surfing is almost EXACTLY like SNOWBOARDING," you scream, but everyone is done for the day and gone to dinner. You feel invisible, and not in a good way. You don't blame the Canadians, because they are very nice. It is really not their fault they don't have snorkeling and swimming. A few very, very brave souls surf in Tofino on the western coast of Vancouver Island. In Tofino, they wear the thickest wet suits known to man. You consider going to Tofino to surf there, but only the craziest Canadians surf in January.

At the bottom of the hill, you find a quiet bar with a cozy fireplace. In there are a group of women.

"You are from Hawaii?" one asks. She just finished Peak to Creek without breaking a sweat. "Why are you here? I would love to snorkel and surf, but man I can't afford Hawaii."

"You made the right choice to move to Hawaii," another one says who is wearing the latest high tech fabrics. "I could have moved there, but I stayed close to the mountain."

"I bought a condo here years ago," another says. "It wouldn't be practical for me not to ski."

You get it. Skiers, too, have their own hopes and dreams. Some love to ski. Others like to ski but wouldn't mind a trip to the beach, or moving there permanently.

You keep getting on the hill, day after day, hoping that someday someone will notice your persistence, but they don't. You go to the coffee shop/yoga studio, the one that reminds you of the one you frequent in Hawaii. There you meet a few fellow Hawaiians. You are shocked to see so many Hawaiians in Whistler. They are dealing with the same shit. Every now and then, someone breaks through and gets a lift ticket. But most of you and your fellow Hawaiians wait.

You decide to go out in a group. Maybe if you try the bunny hill together, you can learn from each other. If nothing else, you have someone to drink coffee with, do yoga with, and talk about surfing. Maybe the lift ticket guys will notice you all standing in a group trying as hard as you can. A few people stop by and cheer you on, but that doesn't get you a lift ticket.

Your husband knows you are an awesome skier, and believes that any minute now you'll get your ticket. You admire his optimism, but know otherwise. Your high school friend and old ski buddy is shocked--SHOCKED--that you don't have a lift ticket.

"You are the best skier I've ever seen!" This makes you kind of sad, when it really shouldn't. Unfortunately, your best friend skis at Vail, and has no pull with the lift ticket dudes at Whistler. Otherwise, you'd be golden because she would walk in and talk to the head ski lift guy and tell him how great you are. She also had a reasonably good life. She goes to Vail in the morning, and goes to Hawaii in the afternoon. She often calls and asks for rowing advice since she is new to crew. You feel for her, because she struggles at times to transition between the two.

"My wife is Hawaiian," one of the guys in the Village says. He is afraid to make eye contact. "She used to ski back in the day, but now she surfs." He knows if he acknowledges how hard it is for you, he will need to acknowledge how hard this is for his wife who also wants to ski.

You sigh, and your other fellow coffee drinking, snorkeling, yoga-doing Hawaiian friends sigh, too. You feel the little bit of sand still stuck in between your toes inside your ski boots, and wonder if it is worth it to battle to get up this hill. The beach is nice, you begin to think. It is warm there and I know it well. Do I really want to change?

Another Hawaiian skis by and sees all of you there. She stops. "I used to be a Hawaiian. I still am, and always will be, but I also ski. I got my lift ticket."

You and your friends pause, waiting for her to tell you to enjoy the moment, blah blah blah. Instead, she says "I'll show you how to get that lift ticket." You and your friends listen. She isn't doing this because she is nice--which she is--she is doing this because she is pissed, pissed because it was so hard for Hawaiians to get lift tickets. Like a true skier and a true Hawaiian, she doesn't think the two are mutually exclusive.

"I fell on my butt a lot after I got my ticket," she said. "I had to get dragged down the hill on the sled by the ski patrol. I dusted myself off, got a new ski jacket that wasn't from 2004 and got back on the mountain!"

She teaches your squad squats and stretches. Together, you review the maps of the mountain and are given guidance on the terrain of different sections as not all blues are created equal. She reminds us of the heavy winds at the summit and the protected, quiet areas near the bottom. She teaches your group to read the weather forecasts on different parts of the mountains. She takes you and your fellow Hawaiians to buy new ski jackets so at least you look like you know what we are doing.

She also starts talking to the guys selling the lift tickets. He talks back:

"I need to know they can do the Peak to Creek without collapsing before they get to Dave Murray Downhill. I need to know they will be safe in the fog, on ice and in deep powder. I need to know they won't give up in the middle of the Whistler Bowl and decide to go back to Hawaii."

"My Hawaiians are awesome," she tells him. "I'll agree they are rusty in some aspects, but they have skills your other skiers might not have. Do you need balance? They've got it from yoga. Do you need endurance? Try swimming in open water for two miles while watching out for sharks. Their thighs might not be as tight as they were forty years ago, but their core and upper body strength are incredible from snorkeling and rowing, and that will come in handy in the deepest powders and on tough moguls."

She keeps going: "They did all of this rowing, snorkeling, and surfing because they wanted to, not because they had to." 

"How will they function in a place where they have to get stuff done?" the lift ticket guy asks. "This is a mountain, not a beach. Once they get to the top of the mountain, they need to get down. They can't decide to quit because the fresh pow has been stripped away by the teenage snowboarders who leave nothing behind but concrete. It might be a bluebird day today with six fresh inches, but tomorrow might bring slush and a night freeze. Then what?"

"That remains to be seen," Julia says. "But have faith. They are here and they are trying. They have learned agility from shifting sports. They learned flexibility from yoga, strength from rowing, and endurance from swimming. They learned to problem solve while they navigate the waves of the surf. And they learned to exercise both sides of their brain while following a school of fish through a coral reef. Give them a chance."

To be continued...