SALT LAKE CITY — After 43 years of carrying off-balanced backpacks and sleeping on hard ground, being kicked by cows and bucked off horses, being blind-sided by rogue waves and turkey-bowl linebackers, and after tangled paraglider lines, my bio-mechanics aren’t as centered as they could be.

This was my condition when I decided to go skiing for the second time in my life. My middle-aged body is powered by — and takes orders from — a spirit that still believes it’s 21, and immortal, which may not be a good thing.

I exited the ski shop — where I was informed that, "No, they don’t have any skis with outriggers or training wheels" — carrying my ski poles in one hand, and my skis over my shoulder. Walking in ski boots for the first time is tricky. It’s like walking with casts on your legs which I supposed might end up being good practice for later.

I clomped over to the ticket window and asked about getting a lesson. “Of course,” she said in a bright voice. She pointed to an area at the bottom of the bunny hill and informed me that my ski lesson will begin there in 10 minutes.

I find part of the instruction area is designated for adults and part of it for children. Several kids are already waiting there with their parents. I’m the only adult. My instructor suggests that he and I separate ourselves from the kids a little ways.

He has me practice feathering my skis across the snow, then digging their edges into the snow. I see the kids practicing the same maneuvers. We then practice skating, turning and stopping.

“When you want to slow down bring your ski tips together and form a wedge. To go faster, just open up the wedge and hold your skis parallel to each other,” the trainer said.

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I couldn't help but overhear the kid instructor telling her students the same thing, but in a slightly different way.

“When you want to slow down make your skis into a pizza slice,” she said as she demonstrated by forming her skis into a pizza-shaped wedge. “Then, when you want to go faster make them into two French fries.” She demonstrated by shifting her skis into parallel lines, like two French fries.

I went with my instructor to practice on the bunny hill, and on the way down my instructor had me practice slowing down by forming my skis into a wedge — pizza. I only ended up falling down once!

My instructor and I took three runs down the bunny hill and I practiced turning, feathering and stopping. At the end of each run, my instructor told me what I was doing right, and what I need to work on.

Before we parted ways, my instructor warned me, “Be careful today. It hasn’t snowed in a while and the terrain is getting icy. With conditions like this, it’s going to make it hard to stop.”

I push-skated myself over to the Moonbeam chairlift and rode it to a beautifully high elevation (only slightly higher than my seats at Lavell Edwards Stadium) and then I exited at the top of the Main Street run.

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The chairlift chair has eight inches of sparkling snow piled on its seat. The lift operator gives it a couple energetic swipes with his broom as it swings by him. I let it clip me behind the knees, and sit back as it does. I tuck my poles under my leg and pull the cross bar over me. The hum of the tower fades behind me and I am lifted into an atmosphere of Vallen Stil peacefulness.

I rolled out to the spot where the flatness ends and the steepness begins and there I stop and adjust my glasses and gloves and look down upon the near-empty white space of the slope before me. I pushed off with my ski poles and crossed the threshold into the steep. It wasn't really that steep, but it was steeper than the bunny hill, and I was rapidly gathering speed.

I formed my skis into a snowplow and slowed myself down. I decided to try a turn by turning to my right, pizza wedge, and then turned back to my left. I made another turn, lost my balance a little, but caught it back. I was skiing! — kind of.

It seemed like my skis behaved like two dogs on a leash. Most of the time, they wanted to go in the same direction, but once in a while one of them started to wander off on its own. If my skis were dogs I’d name them Drifter and Rebel.

I crossed into a steeper section of the hill and feel my speed increase. When it approached a speed I was not yet comfortable with, I formed my skis back into a snowplow to slow myself down. However, I discovered in a hot-flash of panic that some terrain is simply too steep for a mere "pizza wedge" maneuver to slow me down. Then I had to bear down on my downhill ski and turn hard, which also acts to apply the brakes.

With regained control, I continued my S-turns down the hill. I soon realized that I have little control of my uphill ski. I could usually get my downhill ski to cut into the snow to steer me, but my uphill ski just planed along like a trowel across cement or wobbled around like a compass needle looking for north.

I made about a dozen runs down Solitude’s Main Street that day with increasing success. By my last two runs of the day, I had become considerably better, and grown much more confident. I had more control, less flailing. Less pizza, more French fries. Sure, there were times when my skis failed to turn. I glided with courage. I panicked. I sashayed, rhythmic as a metronome. I crashed.

Until, by 3 p.m., my legs were just too tired to do another run. Solitude may have high speed quads, but I do not.

But here is the ultimate advice: Go skiing! Even if you’re in your 30s, 40s or 50s. Even if you’ve never done it before. Especially if you’ve never done it before. You will love it.

Sure, you’re going to fall. Big deal. Yeah, you’ll get a bruise on your hip, and you may strain a ligament a little bit. Your knees and hips may require an Advil or two. But, you’re going to stand up, brush yourself off, and go again.

This is a skill you can learn later in life. There’s no rule that says you have to ski down the black diamond. I spent all day — having so much fun I didn’t bother stopping for lunch — skiing down a green circle run all day. It was one of the best days of my life. If you have even the slightest curiosity, if you have the slightest athletic ability, give it a try.

Steven Law is a native Utahn who has spent his entire life tramping about the Utah backcountry with his friends and his dogs exploring and seeking out adventures.

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