In that time, I’ve seen skiing from almost every angle: At 16 years old I quickly progressed from beginner to Intermediate, but struggled in Intermediate-oblivion for eight years to follow. I moved to the mountains in 1987 and spent 8 years in the ski business. I’ve been a ski instructor, ski model, recreational racer, snowboarder and worked in marketing for two ski resorts (side note: we had a joke in the business that guys wanted to date a ski marketing girl since we frequently saw six inches and said it was a foot!)

I’d like to say I learned to ski at age 2 - when I was fearless and closer to the ground. For me, however, it all began during my Sophomore year of high school with a full-grown adult body. I didn’t know how to ski yet, but I joined the high school ski club and signed up for a trip to Mammoth. I did this for two reasons which seemed very logical to me at the time:

#1 - I thought it would make me cool (which I definitely was NOT in high school), and ...

#2 - I was jealous all those kids that came back from Christmas vacation with tan-raccoon eyed faces.

My father (convinced that I’d die on the slopes of Mammoth mountain without a previous lesson) took me to Mountain High (in the Southern California mountains) the day after Christmas to teach me how to ski.

He seemed like a likely candidate as an instructor; having grown up in Vermont he was practically born on skis. Besides, my dad can do anything! It was that very day, however, that I broke first cardinal rule for women in skiing: (There are 10 rules, by the way see them at the end.)

RULE #1 - NEVER, ever, under any circumstances attempt to learn to ski from a close friend or relative (this rule becomes especially combustible when that person is a partner or spouse.) Know this rule. Live this rule: it could eventually save your marriage.

There wasn’t much snow that first day, and what little was there was machine made (this was 17 years ago, mind you, long before technology perfected the art of snowmaking. Believe it or not, it’s come a long way).

It was a beautiful, sunny Southern California day. There was only run open at Mtn. High, and of course it was NOT a beginner run -- it was a deathly steep Intermediate slope. My father, in his infinite wisdom, saw fit to take me up the chair lift right away. I must say the best piece of advice I got from the man that day was "If you feel out of control, sit down" - so that’s what I did, all the way down the hill. I slid two feet, then sat down. Another foot, and down. Three feet. Down. It must have taken two hours to get down a run that should have taken 10 minutes. When I got to the last, steep pitch at the bottom, I saw someone slide out of control into the base lodge and hit the wall. I proceeded to take off my skis and walked down the rest of the hill.

Now I can barely remember what I have for breakfast each morning, yet I can vividly remember my first hour on skis -- it was the second most frustrating, painful and humiliating experience of my life (second only to my first day on a snowboard, which was to come 11 years later.)

To top things off, if there’s one thing I hate it’s the feeling of holding somebody back - especially when that person keeps screaming at you to "MAKE A SNOWPLOW! TURN! TURN! NO, NO, NO -- YOU’RE DOING IT ALL WRONG!" (Having been a ski instructor, it never fails to amaze me when people who really can’t ski correctly themselves attempt to teach others...) Miraculously I made it to the bottom of that first run unscathed. Upon finding flat ground, I set my father free.

"I understand what I need to do," I told dad. "You just go skiing and I’ll practice side stepping up the bottom of the mountain until I get it." And that’s just what I did. After about an hour or so I almost had enough confidence up to give the chair lift a try -- that was just about the time a gorgeous 6-foot tall Nordic blonde with chiseled features yelled single in my direction. I must’ve took out 5 people in line to meet up with him (a little trick my family soon began to kid me about since I unfortunately repeated it many times in my early skiing career) and with that, I instinctually learned rule #2 for single women in skiing:

RULE #2: Scope out the cutest guy in the lift line before yelling single (this worked a little easier 17 years ago, before the advent of the quad chair.)

Be it age, novice ability, man’s need to feel superior, or just plain flirtatiousness - whatever the case, every time I went skiing that first season I got a date - it’s a phenomena I’ve never been able to duplicate since.

And so my skiing career began -- and during an El-Nino winter to boot. Seeing skiing as a great way to reunite the family that was drifting apart during teenage years, my parents took me and my two sisters skiing almost every weekend that winter. My skiing ability improved that winter (as did my social calendar), but years later I would discover that I really didn’t know how to ski at all. Which brings me to RULE #3:

RULE #3: - take lessons early, and frequently until you feel comfortable and in control on any type of slope.

I learned this rule the hard way. I skied for eight seasons without every taking a lesson. I even and considered myself an advanced/intermediate (for a definition of advanced/intermediate, see Rule #10 Know the Lingo at the end). Control was a term I could never grasp in those early years. It wasn’t until I knew I could slow down or stop on any type of slope, that my passion for the sport began.

In the beginning I could take or leave skiing. It was a great way to meet guys, get outside and get some sun - I but I was hardly fanatical about the sport. Picking ski pants that looked the best on me and picking the best spot on the deck for sunning and flirting were the most important agenda items for the day. Once I really learned how to ski, however, the sport took on a whole new meaning...

At 22 I moved to Aspen, Colorado. This move catapulted me into a new life-style that was supposed to be temporary, and has somehow transformed into my long-term life. In Aspen I was not yet a real skier, however it lead me to love living in resort towns. Aspen was the perfect transition town for a big-city girl. There was plenty of nightlife and culture and even seclusion (if that’s what you wanted.) And, with the help of two consecutive drought winters, I learned to appreciate the snow slowly.

Shortly before my 24th birthday, I moved home to Southern California and to Big Bear in the San Bernardino mountains. Thanks to my parents, I lived rent-free for the first six months in their cabin, and still was barely affording to live on a ski instructor’s salary (it’s not a glamorous lifestyle, trust me!)

And becoming a ski instructor was not as easy as I thought it would be. I’d been skiing for eight years and thought it would be easy to teach kids or beginners. Boy was I off. By the grace of god, somebody in that ski school department must have thought I was trainable, because my skiing seriously SUCKED! They accepted me as an instructor, with the caveat that I train for a few weeks before actually teaching. Well, for the first three weeks of that ski season, seven days a week, I was re-taught how to ski. They taught me from scratch -- in a Snowplow (now termed a "wedge") and with my ego severely in ‘check’. I had eight years of bad habits to break, and I wasn’t going to give them up on them without a fight! That winter was my break-through year. I spent 110 days on my skis and progressed to a level I thought I’d ever achieve.

I started that winter of 88/89 teaching beginning skiers. By the end of the season, I could not only teach advanced classes, but had learned to use my own poles, had mastered the short-swing turn, could control myself in steeps and hard pack, and had learned to ski race-gates (not bad for one winter). And, I was well on my way to a new, previously foreign world to me: the world of ski business. Some people dream of getting into the ski business - some people work years to make it happen. For me, it was not planned nor forecast, it happened purely by accident….