Globals Only
At 13 I had a cherub smooth face, long hair parted in the middle, and was miles away from the first whispers (and whiskers for that matter) of puberty. Raised in Georgia, I spoke with a distinct southern drawl and had endured six grades of private Catholic school. This all created a perfect storm of awkwardness, just in time for my family’s move north to rural Virginia, public school and colder temps.
I sometimes wonder if I really loved snowboarding in the beginning, or if it was just something to latch onto among the unmoored turmoil of the move. I certainly didn’t take to it naturally, struggling to link my first turns at tiny Massanutten Mountain. It’s always been hard work for me, which to this day engenders a red-hot jealousy of those who “have it.” Or maybe that’s a myth. Maybe they started earlier or worked harder. In any case, I was calling myself a “snowboarder” before my board ever left the ground.
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