Peak Performance
Listen to this articleAn Excerpt From Cliff Lloyd’s up-coming book.
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The winters of upstate New York can be very brutal. To get through these long cold months, I learned, with the help of my friends, ice skating and snow skiing. Fortunately the park behind my home had a small, shallow lake for skating and small hills for remedial skiing. One summer, a few years back, our family cleaned out the storage area under our house. It was full of items left by the previous owners in the late 1940s. As I was digging through these discarded treasures, I found an antique set of wooden skis and ski poles. They were a step above barrel staves, but to me they were wonderful additions to my winter survival kit. They were long, wide and heavy and anytime we had a good snow storm, I would strap them on with the handmade leather straps. I would then plow my way through the meadows and woods behind us. It was a combination of cross country, downhill and bootcamp training. Even at the lowest temperatures, I worked up a sweat.
The downhill aspect gave me the basic courage and techniques to take the next step. I accepted the challenge to go to a real ski park at our rural Stoneyford Golf Course. From my summer jobs and help from Mom and Dad, I bought a beginner’s set of composite skis and a pair of boots. I was in heaven with the thoughts of actually learning how to “really” ski.
Armen, my State Hospital soccer star and mentor, was old enough to drive us to the park. He was an experienced skier from Europe, so this hill was no challenge for him. He promised to guide me along the learning process. This hill was actually the driving range in the summer and it was equipped with a simple rope tow to get us up the hill. I grabbed my equipment and we trudged up to the start. I was such a novice it was embarrassing. Luckily he and his friends tried to help me get it all together. The perspective from the bottom watching everyone taking the hill with ease, gave me false confidence.
Many of these skiers were under 10 years of age. I thought if they could do it, I certainly could. The hill actually looked easy from the bottom. Arriving at the top and looking down offered a completely different viewpoint. My virgin voyage was going to be far more of a challenge than I had hoped for. It might as well have been Mt. Everest.
“Come on Jensen, get a move on!”
Armen swooshed by weaving easily side to side. I had never had a lesson and had no clue as to technique or even the basic knowledge of how to stop. What the hell was I doing here? Slowly I pushed off and headed straight down the hill. It seemed as if I hit terminal velocity in seconds. I quickly bailed out and crashed in a cloud of powder. I looked up and saw I had only gone about 30 feet. My buddy was generally a really good guy, so at least I thought. For the rest of the day, he and his friends tried to guide me through the basics. Surprisingly, by day’s end, I was able to take on the hill with only 2-3 falls along the way. Although I was wet, sore and exhausted, I was euphoric at the progress I had made.
The next week, Armen suggested we take a road trip with him to the Hunter Mountain ski area. I had no idea what or where that was, but peer pressure and a false ski ego took over. I agreed. Hunter Mountain ski resort, unbeknownst to me, is one of the premier ski destinations in the northern part of the Catskill Mountain range. On Saturday, I gathered my equipment, packed some snacks and Armen, me and his two other friends headed off. It was a 70 mile drive. As we approached the mountain, I got this sick feeling in my stomach. I could see the extent and vastness that this mountain presented.
“Hey, dude, do they have beginner hills here?”
“Yeah man, no worries, we’ll take care of you ?” he chuckled.
We paid the $12 lift price, strapped on our gear and shuffled to the chairlift.
That venture in itself, was a new challenge. I had never ridden an actual chair lift. Just watching the speed at which it swept people off their feet was daunting. I even witnessed a few fails and crashes before we even got past go.
“Do you think I can do this man?”
“Sure, just slide in next to me, bend down a little and grab the side when it hits your butt!”
In a flash, we were lifted into the sky. It was an exhilarating feeling and the view was awesome. Then the thought of getting off this ride struck me. “How do you get off this thing dude?”
“Don’t worry about getting off, just plant your skis, slide off and move to the side.”
As we approached the landing, I freaked. What if I can’t get off, what if I crash?
I pushed off, slid to the left and took out three other skiers as I tumbled into the crowd. Luckily, there was limited damage to the others.
Then he let out a diabolical laugh, skied ahead and said, “See you at the bottom, big shot!”
I slowly pulled myself together on the side, not even looking at the slope ahead. I stood under this large yellow sign. When I looked up, I saw that it displayed a double black diamond with the letters “E” and “X.”
I wondered what that meant. Skier after skier swooshed by me with ease. Slowly I crept to the edge and saw a sight that took my breath away. The slope was about a 35-degree grade with huge moguls every few feet. I knew I was going to die! That SOB had taken me to the most challenging and steepest run on the mountain. “Ok, you can do this,” my male ego said, ignoring my racing heart and flushed blood pressure. I felt completely helpless and abandoned. It was lightly drizzling, the snow was wet and slushy. I slowly and agonizingly slid down into the first mogul. I tried not to look down and I knew if I headed downhill at that slope angle, I would likely crash at high speed. That crash would easily break a leg or my neck and I would slide all the way down in a heap.
“Get out of the way man,” one guy roared by .
I slowly slid around mogul one and shimmied to mogul two. There were hundreds more ahead of me with no escape from harm if I chose to attempt to ski this.
I swallowed whatever small amount of pride I had left, popped off my bindings, grabbed my poles and skis and ungracefully slid to the side. The walk of shame down to the bottom took at least an hour. After that, I tried to take a few bunny runs, but I was soaking wet, pissed off, exhausted and felt betrayed. Eventually I found the guys and was greeted with feces eating grins on their faces.
“How did it go,” Armen quipped?
“I think you know you ass, right?”
They all tried to keep their laughs in.
“Not cool man, I could have died. That was mean and dirty man!”
Even though I was angry and hurt, I kept it mostly to myself. I didn’t want them to think their little prank was too much of a success. We chilled at some picnic tables, ate our bag lunches and then headed back. I was in the back seat passenger side and in minutes I crashed into deep sleep.
“Oh my god, oh my god, what the hell man!”
I was startled from my nap by Armen’s screams. Gary, the dude next to me in the back seat, had projectile vomited all over Armen, the front windshield and Bill the passenger in the front. It was truly a “hot” mess. Green and brown sludge was plastered all over the passenger in the front. It was all over Armen and every visible surface on the front dashboard. I was left untouched and unscathed. I guess he was able to handle the moguls, but not the winding roads on the ride back. He quickly pulled over and I saw we were about 20 miles from home in Liberty. Everything in front of me was drenched in sputum. There was no way of cleaning up the mess. The car was rendered essentially undriveable. Also, there was no way I was going to help them out.
“Could this be Karma man? I’m calling my mom for my pick up. You guys enjoy your day !”
From there I walked to a pay phone and set up my ride. I grabbed my equipment off of the rack and out of the trunk and walked away. My pick up spot was down the road. I never hung out with him or the others again. Trust is an essential part in any of my relationships. What they did was a mean and dangerous stunt and a huge betrayal of my trust.
A few years later, I saw him at a few of our soccer games but we never spoke again. I hope it was worth it for him.
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betrayal of trust i let my heart and my soul to you someone who i thought was a true friend, how can you live with yourself knowing what you did. i learned a hard lesson that day the day the one the worst of my life everything out in the open i told u trust broken and bruised and gone. friends are supposed to listen and talk. not ever will i trust again it’s all gone never to return not ever again.
“Broken Trust and Betrayal” by phyllisann harvey
