Moving along reasonably smoothly, you glance to your left and catch a glimpse of another skier. Trouble is, your distracted ski has caught only a glimpse of the set tracks. You lean back to get a closer look and suddenly you're swimming like a fish. Forget it. Once you're far past the vertical, you're also past the point of no return. But instead of cushioning your collapse, you try to save face. Shake a leg, you figure. Parry the air with your poles. Something, anything, so it doesn't look like an f-a-l-l.Know what? Bag the tributes to style points. They prolong the fall, annoy the skier, and leave you with pretzel empathy. Swing your arms like a propeller all you want; you're still going to fall. Predictable and unavoidable, falls seem to take place in slow motion, yet they still rattle you enough to leave you with doubts about your equilibrium. They are skiing's answer to sneezes. Your attention to subtle correction produces the gradual compounding of flaw upon glitch until. . . ohmygoshnevermirnd.... womp!
The tattering tease of womp can be as humiliating as a midrecital hiccup. But don't worry about a fall. It's the world's favorite stopping technique. The important surfaces -- yours and the snow's -- well padded. What's more, there are ways to fall safely.
When you feel a fall coming on, lower yourself so you're closer to the ground. Bring your hands closer to your body so you don't jam a finger against your ski or strain a shoulder. If when you finally come to a full stop you have legs wrapped around arms wrapped around skis stuck to poles, try rolling onto your back and shaking things out in the air. Then roll over onto your hands and knees (1), making sure your skis are across the slope (assuming you didn't fall at the bottom of the hill) and flat on the snow with your knees on top of the skis (2). Slide one ski forward and kick yourself up (3). Dusting is optional (4). Quitting is forbidden.
Where are you going?
What do you want to do?
