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by Harry Hurt III
"I COMMITTED to my executive pursuit of snowboarding by deliberately falling down on my butt. It was minus 17 degrees on the slopes of Whiteface Mountain outside Lake Placid, N.Y. My 56-year-old body was wrapped in long johns, a fur-lined jacket and wind pants. With my black rental helmet, amber goggles and black felt face mask, I fancied myself a winterized Power Ranger. I was determined to drop in, air it out and stomp a ride — just as soon as I learned what all of that meant.
I stared up at a limitless expanse of blue sky, straining to hear the advice of my 30-year-old snowboarding teacher, Brendan Hayes. Now that I had fallen on my butt as per Brendan’s instructions, I had to strap my leather boots into the bindings of my board. I bent forward in a runner’s stretch that made my back ache and my hamstrings burn.... "
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