Everything I know about skiing I learned from tango

I'm glad to report I've returned from my first ever ski weekend with both my relationship and tendons delightfully intact (dancers are a funny sort in that whenever I mentioned I was going skiing for the first time, they'd look concerned and mention the grevious peril to my poor knees). I not only survived, but - believe it or not - enjoyed the experience! Sure, it's kind of like ice skating if they took the rink and sloped it at a breakneck angle and then made your skates cumbersomely long and then gave you and all the people around you two long pointy spear-like objects as they set you adrift. Sure, all the trees on the mountain and many of the snowboarders are out to get you. Sure, it's a "cold weather" sport reliant on the weather being frightful enough that a fire would be much more delightful than hovering twenty feet in the air on a cold metal chair while winds whip past. Sure, skiis are not exactly amenable to moving on non-downwardly-sloped surfaces and thus most transportation between lifts and lodges involves a lot of flailing and locamotive struggles that rival only the formative "walking" experiences of freshly-made toddlers.  Sure, one you've fallen, it's impossible to ever return to the skiier's approximation of "vertical" and you end up thrashing around in the snow like a drunken turtle flipped on her back. But... it's fun! Really fun!

My expectations were not necessarily high: My previous "skiing" experience occured when I was a youngster along on one of my sister's school ski trips. I'm no more clear on how I got included in this outing than I am about why the expedition went to a no-name mountain in Canada when we grew up in the shadow of the icy and illustrious Mt. Baker. I am quite clear on what happened once I was on the Canadian mountain: I got all gussied up in fluffy pink ski-overalls, was pushed out towards the tow lift and... was dragged repeatedly face down in the snow as I desperately tried and failed to use the tow line. Eventually whoever was trying to "teach me" gave up and I ended up taking off my skiis and hobbling the million miles back to the lodge with skiiers tauntingly passing me on all sides while I slipped and slid in ill-fitting boots under the weight of treacherous skiis. This experience was blessedly tow-rope free, which I credit entirely with the positivity of the experience.

Ok, ok, there were other things. Like how awesome ski clothes are these days. These were no pastel pillowed snow coveralls. My new ski outfit looks like it is made of herringbone tweed (circa 60's business suits, which is sadly hard to tell in the photographs).

Add to this some unecessary threaded detail work, some fake furry fringe in the jacket, and more secret pockets than you can shake a stick at and you've got an outfit that entertains me to no end. My jacket and pants match each other and the ski pants are quite possibly the only pair of pants I own that actually fit me.

Oh and I guess, you know, good teachers and a supportive significant other who skiis awfully purdy-like (and sports orange exceedingly well)... but mostly the dearth of rope tows, of course.

As it would turn out, I'm not too shabby at it. I can - as of now - stay on two skiis for large portions of a beginner and even some intermediate runs. Sometimes, I can even stop; at will! I lucked out with my first lessons, populated sparingly and strictly with coordinated people. Interestingly the first tip we ever got was identical to something I've experienced in virtually every begining swing and blues lesson I've ever taken: jump in the air, land, and where you are as you've landed and are ready for a second jump is right where you want to be (balls of the feet, flexibly hinged at the waist, etc. etc.).

The similarities don't end there. Far as I can tell, dancing and skiing (and many other things I suppose) are made up of the same vital ingredients: balance, controlled motion and listening through the body. The latter involves increasingly sophisticated sensitivity to pressure (this is how partners express intention, and it's how you can feel where you are on the mountain - there are millions of variations on the pressure you feel - positive and negative, originating from the arm or the chest - and the more savy you become, the faster you can differentiate and respond in kind thus creating a connection). Control is pretty universal: engaged core, efficient motions (getting the body habituated through repetition to using just the muscle groups necessary to complete a motion and allowing the others to be relaxed and supple) and the equilibrium point between tense and loose where the body can remain engaged but act as its own shock absorber by retaining flexibility. Balance is about keeping that control, knowing exactly where your weight is, and remaining grounded.

My major rules of skiing so far are the same as my rules for tango:

1. Don't Panic. I like to tell this to my classes as the number one rule for follows, but Douglas Adams can be applied to many situations. As long as you're relaxed, you're probably maintaining some degree of control with some measure of technique. It's when something a little scary happens that your technique goes crazy and the body starts overcompensating in ways that makes it more and more precarious until you are completely out of control. In dance, it's the crazy foot shuffling "did-he-lead-that-oh-no-better-catch-up-oh-wait-that-wasn't-a-lead-OW-crap-move-feet-OW-what-does-he-want-OW-oh-god-no..." In skiing it's not so different, except it might involved those pointy sticks (although I guess there are the pointy heels to contend with)

2. Floor/Mountain-craft. There are people around you. This should be taken into consideration, and probably considered as you map out your mental trajectory. In tango, it's all about moving in your lane and minding the sharp stilletto points of errant boleos, while in skiing the downward skiiers have priority and merging trails require an over the shoulder check. Not that I wasn't slammed into by a few fellow neophytes waving poles!

3. Thinking. No matter how much you can think it out, it's all about body habit born of repetition. Sometimes the best way to let the learning start working is to completely let go of the reins with your conscious mind and let your body take over - it often knows better than we think.

4. Shoes. Clearly the most important rule: To excel, you must have shockingly expensive, tricked out, and potentially uncomfortable "shoes" that make actual walking extraordinarily impractical.