How many times have I skied? Five. I really regret not learning to ski sooner. I didn’t start until I was thirty.
The first time was on the sixth day of the Lunar New Year at Shenyang Northeast Asia Ski Resort.
Haha, I didn’t even know how to put on snow boots, let alone how to attach the snowboard. A girl had to show me (she used to ski several times a year).
After putting on the boots, relying on a bit of arm strength, I zoomed forward. I slid from the entrance of the hall to the edge of the beginner slope’s magic carpet. I didn’t know how to brake, and since I wasn’t going slow, I crashed into someone.
I couldn’t carve into the snow, and there was just a small bump in front of the magic carpet that I couldn’t get up. Well, what can you do when you’ve got strength? I used my ski poles, pushed off about five or six meters, accelerated, scraped, and managed to get up, then directly onto the magic carpet.
At the top of the slope, I thought, how high can a beginner slope really be? Watching others go down, they were still pretty fast, and some looked so cool with their ski poles tucked under their arms, gliding down skillfully. I figured they must be pros (later I learned they were all just different types of “torpedoes”). But things weren’t so smooth for me—I couldn’t carve, and even a slight slope sent me sliding downhill. I wondered how the girl had managed to stand on that slightly higher part of the slope. She had told me to wait for her before going down together. But I realized I couldn’t even reach her, so I found a gap and went straight down. I couldn’t even be a torpedo—in just 200 meters, I fell three times before reaching the bottom.
I called the girl, and she came zooming down, smoothly avoiding a fallen person, making a graceful turn, and braking right next to me. I was so impressed. Alright, back on the magic carpet. This time, I mostly relied on my poles again, but I didn’t charge up—I inched my way up. The girl told me to keep my feet apart and lean my body forward, using a snowplow (V-shaped) brake. Okay, time to go down. There was an instructor ahead, slowly following a student. I yelled loudly, “Move!” Instinctively, I looked at his snowboard and realized he turned by putting one edge down. Thankfully, I wasn’t foolish enough to copy his move exactly—instead, I carved with both edges in the opposite direction. The speed wasn’t too high, and I actually managed to complete the turn. But after only a few more meters, maybe because I angled my inside edge too much, my feet suddenly spread apart, and I fell again.
One more try—I distributed my weight evenly between both feet. I didn’t fall this time, but I used an outward V-shaped brake at the end, nearly doing the splits, which hurt like hell.
By the fourth run, I had officially become a torpedo—and could even make one turn.
Haha, so my confidence came back, and I called the girl to head to the intermediate slope. She didn’t know any better either, so we went. We took the chairlift. She went ahead of me, and whoosh—off she went. I reached out and grabbed the plastic disc. Let’s go. Since the chairlift track had ruts in it, the first-time skier in me found it kind of fun. The girl fell after going a third of the way up, but I didn’t dare stop to help because if I stopped midway, I’d have to ski backward all the way to the bottom. Halfway up, my arms started to feel sore, and I wondered, how does that little girl have so much arm strength? The slope behind us was already nearing thirty degrees, and the lift’s force was probably over half my body weight. How was she holding on? The slope kept getting steeper, and I gritted my teeth and endured. Finally, we reached the top, and the attendant gave me a thumbs-up, then said, “First time here? Sit and rest a bit, then walk down.”
There was no way I could move. I don’t know if it was fear or a previous fall, but I ended up sitting to the side. Looking back, I realized others were using their legs to grip the plastic disc. The attendant’s thumbs-up was actually praising my grip strength.
Watching all the skilled skiers—both alpine and snowboarders—whizzing past me was a huge blow. The girl called me and asked if I was going down again. I said, “If I don’t, am I just waiting here for dinner?” Then I stood up resolutely. Before I could even adjust my direction, I went straight down, falling, falling, falling. By the time there were two hundred meters left, I didn’t even have the strength to put my snowboard back on.
Alright, I guess I’ll go back to the beginner slope. I hauled my snowboard and trudged back, looking a mess.
Although I didn’t fall on the beginner slope anymore, I still couldn’t brake or turn freely. So I tried the intermediate slope once more. This time, I was determined to go fast. Halfway down, I fell!!!! Almost knocked myself out, landing on the back of my head.
I went home, and for three days straight, my whole body cramped. I needed both hands just to pick up my laptop.
Alright, time to watch videos and study theory. I’m good at physics, so the diagrams and explanations made sense right away. I felt like I should be improving.
It was the weekend again, my second time. I got used to the beginner slope six or seven times. I learned how to carve and adjust my center of gravity. Actually, by then, I was using a half-plow turn, though I still sometimes struggled with balance and kept falling. Sometimes, I’d even carve inward with my uphill foot and end up in the splits. But I clearly started to get the feel of turning—the push coming from my outside foot, gradually increasing the turn, even feeling like that push overpowered gravity. I had to lean my body significantly to stay balanced. Sometimes, when turning too quickly, my inside foot would naturally edge outward and share some of the support. It felt amazing—that must be what they call “carving.” Looking back at the girl’s turns, they seemed so basic. Isn’t that just the “pizza” turn they talk about online? And those beginners paired with instructors doing basic turns—haha, I felt like my intuition was really sharp.
The third time, I went out alone, without the girl. I didn’t go to Northeast Asia either—I went to Guai Po (Strange Slope).
I adapted to the beginner slope twice, then boldly headed to the intermediate slope. Wow, the speed was so much faster, but as long as I could carve, I wasn’t afraid. Though I couldn’t control my speed, I could still control my direction. I wouldn’t hit anyone. Through repeated falls, I tried to gradually reduce the distance between my feet and keep them as parallel as possible during turns. I was making the ugliest wide turns imaginable. But finally, I realized I hadn’t fallen even once the whole run—I could ski the intermediate slope.
Just as I was enjoying the feeling of turning, I suddenly heard a series of scraping sounds behind me. Without turning around, I saw someone zoom past me from less than a meter away, continuously making tight S-turns. My speed was getting hard to control too, so I started imitating his moves, making one tight S-turn after another. I followed this expert all the way to the chairlift station. He slid to a sudden sideways stop, and I tried to brake too—but ended up kicking him hard and sending him tumbling. I slid another ten meters on my own.
The fourth time, I went with the girl, still at Guai Po. By now, I could confidently control my direction on moderately sloped runs and even clumsily mimic the skating-like strides of others on flat ground, gliding from one slope through the crowd to another. This time, it was my turn to teach the girl how to turn. On the beginner slope, I could execute smooth parallel turns anytime and brake sideways whenever I wanted.
The fifth time, I brought the girl to the intermediate slope. Since I kept having to rescue her, I didn’t ski as much myself, but I could still stop within two meters of her no matter how fast she was going. I could also ski at high speeds down the slope like the pros, then turn, brake sideways, and cut the line to get on the magic carpet (the intermediate slope at Guai Po also uses a magic carpet).

Haha, when chatting online, some users said I should get a coach; otherwise, I might end up relearning the plow turn. Now, I think, no need.