For those who don’t already know, skiing is practically a personality trait of mine at this point, so it should come as no surprise that I also managed to make skiing my profession. Before we get into that though, here’s a brief history of my family and skiing. 

I was born to a set of skiing parents in a skiing family. My great-grandmother was on a race team in Colorado way back when, my dad is a Ski Patroller, and as a 4-month-old I spent my winters getting traded back as my parents took turns skiing and taking care of me. Needless to say, the second I could walk I was bundled into a pink snowsuit and put on skis.

Being a skier in Illinois is a little disappointing, as you probably presumed. Surprisingly enough, however, skiers aren’t left destitute out here. It may not be the Rocky Mountains, but there is a tiny gem that doubles as my employer: Four Lakes.

If you’re familiar with Four Lakes, you’re rightfully underwhelmed. Four Lakes is actually the smallest ski area in North America according to this article by Curbed, as the one resort larger has recently been permanently closed. Though it is vertically challenged, Four Lakes does have one redeeming factor: if you can ski there, you can ski anywhere. Maybe I’m being too cocky, but I actually do believe that the Four Lakes teaches the foundations of skiing like the best of them.

In fact, my skiing foundations have developed immensely at Four Lakes. As a direct result of me spending many of my formative childhood years around the hill, I got hired as an instructor when I was 14. Working there for such a long time, I really have seen it all when it comes to the ins and outs of ski lessons. Here’s a little taste of what it’s like to be an instructor at the tiniest hill in North America.

The biggest defining factor of teaching at Four Lakes is learning the tow rope, otherwise known as my worst nightmare. If you don’t think it sounds too bad, just wait. In essence, the rope is the primitive form of a chair lift. Instead of sitting down nicely and passively getting carried up the hill, you have to grab onto a rope that circles continuously and hold on for dear life as you get dragged up. Now imagine teaching the rope to a five-year-old who can barely stand on skis, let alone muster up the motor skills required to make it up without tipping over. Adding it all up, I have probably spent hours toting kids up the rope or picking them up when the just can’t hold on anymore.

Keeping with the theme of crashing, that’s what kids do when they can’t stop. Specifically, they tend to crash into my body as I’m yelling the word “PIZZA” (the very technical term we use for the stopping position) over and over. Honestly, I’d rather have kids crash into me than into the snow, where they lay waiting for me to ski over and pick them up. It’s not as bad as it seems, though. I tend to think of it as a series of very high-speed hugs from tiny, bundled-up children.

Despite my varied efforts to keep kids standing whether it be on the tow rope or on the slopes, they always inevitably crash, making it my job to pick them up. At this point I have it down to a science: assess the scene for any lost equipment, lift them off the snow, return any lost equipment, and send them on their way. This is a streamlined procedure that I use over and over and over again. Instead of calling myself a ski instructor I could call myself a wipeout-manager and it would mean the same thing.

While all of this may sound negative, I actually really love what I do. Not only do I get to interact with kids who say and do the funniest things, but I also get to spend a ton of time outside and most importantly, I get to ski constantly. Being a ski instructor has allowed me to turn one of my passions into my profession, and I couldn’t recommend it more.