Staying with the short story theme on my blog, this missive was originally written in 2012, but this past week I went back in and made some major changes to it. Altered the syntax by cleaning up a few things, added some stuff, and deleted certain portions of the original text. What I’ve ended up with is an entirely different short story (funny how that happens). This past Sunday while working at my ski area job, we hosted a group of snow bikers from Durango. The kids in the group borrowed a shovel from us to build a snow jump, and since we’re in the middle of the winter season I figured this short story would be quite appropriate for the occasion. Something about flying off a jump when you’re coming down a mountain that definitely becomes a total obsession when you’re in your youth.

Word Count: 3501

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Couch Jumping Finally

Begins to Pay Off

 

Because it’s a ski resort town, a sizable percentage of the citizens living in Snowflake, Colorado look forward to the snowy months of winter with a “twinkle” in their eyes. Increased tourist revenues have a lot to do with it, but you also have a segment of individuals within this group referred by some as complete eccentrics, or to put it more discreetly, “winter sports fanatics.”  For them, the Snowflake months of December through March is distinguishable because it’s now, “put up or shut up” time in the arena of athletic endeavor.

Witness the case of one Henry Penguana. His emotions included everything from fear & anxiety, to incredible highs during the winter months.  This emotional rollercoaster being entirely the result of his character and his formative years growing up in Snowflake. Even at the tender age of four, his leaping character began to exhibit itself.

“Reginald dear,” said Elizabeth Penguana, Henry’s semi-regular chef, chief bottle washer, and mother.  “I’m concerned about Henry’s latest jumping escapade.”

“When aren’t you worried Liz,” said Reginald, Henry’s occasional cheerleader, full-time financial backer, and father. “I told him last week to quit launching off the railing on the back deck of the house.”

“Not that,” said Liz. “I caught him trying to jump from the top of the refrigerator onto the kitchen table yesterday. He was about ready to do it when I walked in.”

“In this case I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that he only weighs fifty-seven lbs. instead of 257 lbs., considering the amount of food that boy inhales.  I came this close to stumbling into the study and crying when you showed me the grocery bill last night.”

“I did cry when I was checking out. Then again, the folks at the Snowflake A. & P. are always happy to see me walk in the front door.”

Henry began to gravitate towards his status as a high-ranking member of the U.S. Nordic Ski Jumping team at an early age.  He’d just turned five when he asked if he could tag along with his older brother Derek to a meeting of the Snowflake Mini-Champs Ski team.

“Please,” said a whinny Henry. “Who says I can’t go to today’s meeting of the Snowflake Snowkidz with you?”

“I do,” said Derek, with the stern authority that only comes from being seven years old and a seasoned two-year veteran of the program.  “You have to be at least six to join the Snowflake Snowkidz.  I say so and I’m the boss of you.”

Unfortunately for Derek, Elizabeth over-heard this verbal exchange and decided to have a conversation with her eldest son soon after.

“Derek, where’d you get the idea that someone has to be six or older to get into the Snowkidz program?”

“Come on mom,” said Derek.  “It’s bad enough having to live under the same roof on top of sharing the same bedroom with him.  Now he wants to join my club.”

“So it’s your club is it?”

“I was there first so it’s mine.”

Derek was of course wrong, and on the afternoon of December 6, 1992 Henry came to his first Snowflake Snowkidz meeting with his brother. In addition to discovering that the team did indeed accept kids as long as they were potty trained, Henry also learned that the roof of the kid’s clubhouse was north facing and even in early December had accumulated a somewhat sizable deposit of snow. Based upon this fact, Henry accepted a one-dollar bet from his fellow snot-nosed comrades and climbed to the roof of the clubhouse where he proceeded to jump into said snow pile.  Upon extracting himself amidst wild cheers from his adoring, pre-adolescent fan-base, Henry had his first encounter with one of the coaches.

“What may I ask do you think you’re trying to prove by climbing onto the roof and jumping off into that snow bank young man?” asked Anders Olson, Snowkidz coach/mentor who was actually quite impressed with this 5-year old’s feat of skill, bravery, and spunk, but wanting to put on his best tough-guy face in the presence of his young charges. “What if there was something hidden underneath all that snow?  You could hurt yourself quite badly by doing what you just did.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Sir Man Boss,” said Henry.  “Those big kids made me do it.”

“Well don’t do that again,” said Anders, who’d decided immediately not to mention any of this incident to Frank Newman, the insurance agent whom he begged and plead with to underwrite the Snowkidz policy.  “If I see any of you children doing what this boy just did, I’ll tell your parents and you won’t be coming on any more ski outings.  Do you understand?”

Despite the traumatic memories of that first clubhouse incident, Henry continued to seek out opportunities whenever they presented themselves to leap into space.  At first, somewhat limited in scope since the coaches put him in the alpine ski program, forcing him to learn the ropes when he wasn’t hanging out with the other kids playing amidst serious discussions about how their older brothers and sisters were indeed devil spawn.

This propensity for being a pogo demon on skis began to pay off and soon everybody associated with Snowkidz ski team began to refer to him as Fearless Flyer.  Everyone that is except his father Reginald, who still called him with that familiar yell of his, “Quit JumpingOff that Couch or your Mother and I will totally ground you.”Derek as well, still refused to acknowledge that Henry was anything beyond his booger excavating, Cartoonwatching, semi-retarded little brother, and let him know this each and every morning over their daily bowl of sugar loaded cereal.

Anders took note of Henry’s inclination for jumping off most grounded objects and used this as an argument for bolstering his case to advocate the start-up of a Nordic ski program within the auspices of the kid’s team.  In the fall of 1997 with the help of a few volunteers he got the go ahead, then proceeded to build the equivalent of what would turn into the famous Snowflake ski jumping hill.  Next, he managed to get a hold of a video from the previous year’s world championship in Nordic Skiing and showed it to the kids in October dry-land training.

“That movie was real good coach Anders,” said Henry.

“Pretty amazing what those Europeans have done in the ski jumping and cross-country races isn’t it Fearless?”said Anders.

“You bet coach,” said Henry with noticeable stars in his eyes.  “I want to become the most famous American ski jumper.  All that stuff doesn’t look much harder than what I do all the time around here, so I’m going to win the World and Olympic championships pretty soon.”

Anders silently chucked to himself. He laughed because he knew that Henry was dreaming quite a bit larger than his eight-year-old mind should’ve been allowing him too. He also knew that Americans were about as successful in the world of international Nordic ski competitions as Lap reindeer herders are at the art of producing Hip Hop music.

Henry was undeterred with his dreams and diligently trained to achieve them.  On the surface, nothing seemed that out of the ordinary, but training did create an altered perception of him in the eyes of various members of the Snowflake community.

“Did you hear what that Penguana boy jumped across yesterday?” said Jake Stratton, town mayor.  “When I found out he cleared the Northwest irrigation ditch by four feet I was impressed.”

“Me too,” said Glen Kudrow, part-time town plumber and full-time ladies man.  “The kid keeps telling me his constant leaping off of grounded objects is part of his ski jump training.  That excuse almost sounds legitimate.”

As he got older this required Henry to devote a huge amount of energy to the sport, which resulted in him being away from home for large periods of time.  This produced a more peaceful atmosphere in the household due entirely to the end of steady crashing sounds.  Also, a noticeable drop in the grocery bill, and an upward spike in the relationship meter of the Penguana bothers.

All those leaps into thin air off fixed objects began to give positive dividends.  Over the next eight years, Henry began to move up the ranks of the U.S. Ski Jumping team.  First through the development squad where he out-jumped the other kids whenever one of them dared him to achieve bird-like status, then the C and B teams, and finally right onto the A squad after that phenomenal day on the jumping hill in Plentiful, Vermont.

“We’re so proud of you Henry,” said Elizabeth.  “You think it’ll be as hard competing against all those boys from other countries on a regular basis?”

“Not really,” said Henry.  “The landing zone at that hill in VT. looked just like the area below the monkey bars at Snowflake elementary.”

“Obviously,” said Derek as he tried to avoid sounding too sarcastic.

_______________

Unfortunately, Henry had an Achilles heel.  Oftentimes he didn’t have the most aerodynamic form during, and while landing his jumps. Losing competitions because his style wasn’t up to the international judges’ exacting, anally retentive scoring standards.

“Well he did it again,” said Matthew Duffman, U.S. Nordic Ski Jumping coach.

“What you talking about M.D.?” asked Adley Stressler, team waxing technician.

“Fearlessout-jumped the competition by ten meters,” said Duffman. “But didn’t come in first place because his form looked like a decapitated goose.”

“Come on M.D., it couldn’t have been that bad.” asked Stressler.

“Once again I’m understating things.  When Fearlesslanded his jump, I knew right away that he’d lose points on style faster than the collapse of the evil villain’s flawed world domination plans in that latest James Bond flick I just saw.”

_______________

Being in a grounded mode was actually something Henry enjoyed, and the peacefulness of shuffling through a wooded area on cross country skiis became sort of like a yin to his ski jumping yang whenever he was home.  Unfortunately, it also led to a pre-mature, unintended hiatus in his ski jumping career, right at the point where it should have really taken off too.

In February of ’05 while home on a break from international Nordic competitions in Europe, Henry decided to enjoy some down time by going on a relaxing cross country tour with his mother, a friend of her’s named Katherine Wonderman, and Katherine’s son Kirby, who happened to be even less grounded in reality than most children his age, which was nine. The track, which they chose to do their tour on cut across the Snowflake ski resort in a spot where the area’s beginner terrain happened to be located. Elizabeth assumed correctly that Katherine would be able to take care of herself, but Kirby on the other hand was an entirely different story.

“What an incredible day mom,” said Henry.  “Three inches of new snow from the night before, the sky a crystal blue, and me feeling extra good about my 5^thplace finish at that last world cup competition in Germany.”

“Keep an eye on that Wonderman boy,” said Elizabeth.  “We wouldn’t want anybody or anything suddenly slamming into him when one of us is distracted.”

“Thank you Henry, said Katherine. “Kirby sort of lives in his own little dream world populated by elves, wizards, magic of various sorts, cartoons which I’m having to put him front of, and massive soda & candy consumption which I’m always trying to put a stop to.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You might consider giving him Ritalin for that hyperactive behavior of his.”

“I can’t,” replied Kate Wonderman. “Social Services people might have me arrested for trying to commit homicide since I’d probably have to give him an unusually large dosage of the drug in order for it to be affective.”

“Good point Mrs. Wonderman,” said Henry. “For these people, this is their first day on skis and they probably couldn’t stop even if a Mac truck was headed straight towards them.  Kind of like a deer in the headlights.”

Sure enough right as they reached the spot in the path where the cross-country track meandered back into the woods after intersecting with the ski area run, an errant snowboarder came flying down towards Kirby.

This was Myra Norton’s first time on snow. Being from Beaumont, Texas, a fairly rare commodity in her neck of the woods. Myra had won a 4-day, 3-night, all expenses-paid, vacation package to ski at Snowflake resort as a result of being the grand prizewinner in a pool sponsored by the Beaumont H.E.B. grocery chain. The pool was to pick the final score in the recently completed Super Bowl game. Myra got it exactly right by having her daughter touch the buttons on the Baby’s First Digit-Number Jumbletoy.

Henry noted that Myra was making a beeline straight in the direction of Kirby. So did Elizabeth, who skied over to him and pushed Kirby off to the side of the hill. By carrying out this full body slam maneuver Elizabeth had now placed herself directly in the path of the on-coming Norton Locomotiveand Henry quickly skied over to the aid of his mother and proceeded to also work on his professional wrestling moves.  Had this been a car crash one can make a strong argument that the Henry Penguana model should be considered scrap metal for an avant-garde performance artist’s latest grant justification.

As they say in the aftermath of a big ski crash, “Total yard sale.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Myra.  “I didn’t hurt any of ya’ll just now?”

“Everything ok here,” said Elizabeth as she scrapped herself off.  “Just a bruise.  Luckily my son managed to push me clear right before you slid into us.”

As part of the package tour she’d won, Myra’s equipment was prepped every night. This included all the gouges in her snowboard fixed, edges sharpened, and the board hot waxed.  The result of her collision with Henry was both of his knees being slammed against a tree stump, and the sharpened snowboard edge slashing the tendons behind them.  Everyone except Henry stood there in shock like they’d just met their in-bred half-brother/uncle.

Two days later the family visited Henry at the hospital after he’d been flown there in a helicopter. Other than both knee tendons being torn and the ACL of said knees pulverized to the point of looking like a bombed-out army depot, he was in pretty good spirits.  In fact, the helicopter ride to Denver was Henry’s first trip in one. If it weren’t for his knees being out of commission, he wondered what it would feel like to jump out of a levitated, moving object?

“How’s it feel bro.?” asked Derek. “Food any good in this place, or is it your typical institutional slop?  Then again, you’ll eat almost anything?”

“Very funny,” said Henry, who was just waking up from an extremely vivid dream, finding himself visiting the rose garden a week after his Olympic successes.  “Hospital food is actually ok.  They don’t give you enough of it though.  I ate my roommate’s leftovers.”

“What did the doctors tell you about recovery time?” asked Elizabeth, who shuddered at the prospect of having to act as Henry’s personal chef and waitress in addition to her six hundred other mom duties.  “It might be a while before you can walk?”

A while turned into a year and a half, and in addition to placing a strain on the Penguana’s already high insurance premiums, the food budget took a similar leap.  Elizabeth also became her son’s personal chef since he now found himself spending large chunks of time working on his couch sitting skills, as opposed to jumping from them.

By September of the following year, Henry had rehabilitated his knees to the point where he could make a valiant attempt to get back on the U.S. Ski team.  First off, he experimented with the strength of his legs by spending an entire afternoon testing out the ascent qualities of the neighbor’s trampoline. Then his quest to get back was aided by the efforts of someone from his childhood past.

Anders Olson had kept tabs on the progress of Henry’s career ever since his star pupil had graduated to the U.S. ski team’s developmental squad from the Snowkidz. Anders’ observances occurring with a slight twinge of disappointment at the accident-which might bring an end to his hopes for Henry.

“Hey Anders,” said Reginald Penguana, volunteer assistant to the Snowkidz program ever since the early days. “Henry says he feels strong enough to get back onto the U.S. ski team.”

Anders smiled from ear to ear. “Outstanding, I knew he’d make a return.  Persistence is definitely your son’s middle name.”

“I thought it was flyer.”

“That too. So now that he’s up to his old levitating self, wouldn’t it be sweet if we could figure out a way to get him to test that new 70K jumping facility we installed this past summer.”

“Unfortunately, he’s never around here in winter.”

“What about the Winterfestjumping competition?”

The Winterfest competition Anders referd to happened to be one of the premier athletic and social events in Snowflake during the winter season. First started during the great snow year of 1963, and tailor-made for people like Anders who grew up in the 9-month winters of Kiruna, Sweden. Winterfestwas a way for the inhabitants of Snowflake to embrace, rather than curse that most chilly of seasons.  Sort of like that camel driver in the Mojave participating in a local sand sculpture contest.

The jumping competition at Winterfestwas inaugurated the year after Anders built that first wooden take-off ramp in fall of ‘95, and even though Henry had expressed a desire to compete and win it, he didn’t. Primarily because his quest to achieve athletic stardom on the world stage kept him away from home the exact weekend every year of the carnival.  The irony of his accident nearly two years ago suddenly enabling him to compete in the Winterfest Jumping Competition seemed almost too strange for words.  This wasn’t the only strange thing about the situation either.

_______________

Three days later at the indoor launch pad better know as the Penguana residence;

Elizabeth smiled in an attempt to hide her indifference.  “That’s interesting dear, and you say this mental visualization practice of yours is having a positive effect on your timetable to get back onto the U.S. team?”

“Definitely mom,” said Henry. “Since I’ve been doing it, my training seems like its getting better.”

“Didn’t you also say it helps to visualize certain positive elements from your childhood?”

“Oh yeah. That act in particular definitely improves your performance.”

“Interesting,” said Elizabeth.

“How’d you like to test out this new vision technique of yours by competing in Winterfestthis year?” said Anders, who was visiting the Penguanas just so he could rope Henry into the carnival.  “Your first competition since the injury, what’ve you got to lose?”

“True,” said Henry.  “But what if the competition committee won’t let me in because I haven’t met any of the qualifying standards?”

“No problem Henry,” said Anders. “I might be able to pull a few strings for you.  Depending on the day, I think I know one of the judges.” Anders’ wife happened to be one of the volunteer pole markers down the hill in the landing zone.

________________

 

Two weeks later as the competition on the jumping hill for Winterfest was about to begin:

“So Henry,” said Michael McQuigley, Henry’s competition, next-door neighbor, and therefore heavily influenced by the bird-like exploits of his older friend. “That’s cool how you’ve been allowed to compete with us guys in the Winterfestjumping comp..”

“I’m psyched,” said Henry.  “Hope I can keep up with all you young bucks.”

A quizzical look appeared on his face as Michael pointed down the hill. “Hey Henry, isn’t that your mom and some friends moving something into place down the hill and right at the edge of the landing zone?”

“What?” said a perplexed Henry.

“Looks like a piece of furniture, a small table or something like that.  What the? Doesn’t that look just like the coffee table your folks have in their living room?”

“It is.”

Things felt just right at that exact moment as Henry skied down the in-run, towards the lip of the jump, and into space. Henry just knew he’d reach the coffee table at the bottom of the hill and felt incredibly alive at that moment too. Just like the exhilaration he felt when he cleared the table at the age of five.  Today felt like some sort of really good drug high, only in this case it was actually legal. The definition of insanity in some people’s eyes, but still legal nonetheless.