If you’re a middle-class Utahn with a good number of kids like me, you’ve probably wondered, “Is there a legal way for my family to enjoy skiing, the most expensive sport known to mankind?”
The answer is a qualified YES. It won’t be pretty—you’ll have to do things that are opportunistic, occasionally humiliating, and guaranteed to damage the self-esteem of your preteen-aged children—but it can be done.
So let’s get started! First of all, Gear: What are your options? To afford new skis, each of your children will have to sell a kidney. If you rent, you’ll spend your winters standing in lines and schlepping armloads of sharp objects to and from cars. So that leaves you with just one option: buy used gear.
You can be my like my parents who were pathologically frugal. In the early 1980s, they bought for me (an inexperienced 11 year-old) a set of $5 skis from Deseret Industries that were likely used by Norwegian soldiers during WWI; they were made of splintering wood, towered four feet over my head, and were technically subcode for ski resorts since they featured decaying leather straps rather than safety breaks.
I was kicked out of the now defunct “Parley’s Summit” ski resort when one of these ancient skis separated from my antique lace-up boot (after crash #17) and hurtled 200 yards down the mountain, barely missing a half-dozen skiers, and smashing into a line of unsuspecting people waiting for a lift.
After scooching my way down the mountain on my butt—with hundreds of people watching me from the lifts overhead—a grouchy ski patrol guy banished me for the rest of the day to the lodge. There, I ate the smashed baloney sandwich my mom stuffed in my coat pocket, while watching other kids inhale pizza and French fries.
To spare your children that kind of emotional trauma, put a reasonable age limit on the skis you’ll purchase—20 years? That way they can ski legally, and, at worst, they’ll get some patronizing comments from adult skiers in lift lines (like my son did last year at Brighton) such as, “Going old school, kid? Well good for you…”
Second, Clothing: Don’t be lured into buying hip and expensive stuff. When I was a chunky 13-year-old, I pressured my mom into buying me a trendy ski coat because all of the wealthy kids wore brightly colored ski suits that made them look like extras in a Duran Duran music video.
She took me to a weird clearance sale in Bountiful, however, and didn’t intervene when I accidentally picked out a coat designed for short women. Later she explained that it was super cheap and made me look kind of “cute…. like one of those male figure skaters in the Olympics.”
Looking back, there were some obvious clues that I somehow missed: the burnt pink color, the diagonal yellow stripes that emphasized a woman’s bust line, and the brand name (something like “Sassy Slopes”). Too bad that it had to be a group of mean girls in the cafeteria at Snow Basin who pointed those details out to me rather than my own mom in the bargain racks at JC Penney.
After that disaster, my goal was simply to fly under the radar: jeans, layers of sweatshirts, duct-taped gloves and a knit hat with ear flaps. Today you can camouflage your kids in less pathetic fashion: ski pants from a big box store, a generic black helmet, and any kind of hand-me-down coat that is gender appropriate.
Finally, lift tickets: Years ago, parents could afford a season pass for each child to a resort like Solitude or Wolf Mountain if that counted for both Christmas and birthday. It also helped that parents back then blithely sent their kids on the bus to ski by themselves. Nowadays, we helicopter (or drone?) parents have to ski with our kids to protect them from a plethora of imagined and real dangers—and thus to afford a season pass for the whole family at any resort, you’d have to sell a lung (and I need both of mine since I’m in mediocre shape).
There are just two options: One, instruct each of your children to befriend a different rich family in your neighborhood. This will eventually lead to invitations for your children to go skiing at places like Deer Valley—as well as offers to cover your children’s lift fees (which you will instruct them shamelessly to accept).
Or, two, keep your dignity (but swallow your pride) as you scramble to take advantage of things like the free ski hour at Alta after 3 pm, discounted booklets, or night skiing deals at Sundance.
This kind frenetic deal-seeking will make you feel like skiing vagabonds—while looking like bland winter-time mannequins using outdated gear—but at least you’ll be skiing (rather than scooching on your butt) down the slopes (sassy, or otherwise) of our Utah.
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