First, though, I’m going skiing, continuing a long tradition that arrived in Revelstoke more than 130 years ago with Norwegian settlers. Local merchants quickly figured out that strapping on a pair of “Norwegian snowshoes” and throwing yourself down a mountain was the best way to make the most of the long Canadian winter, and for much of the early 20th century, Revelstoke reigned supreme in the realm of competitive ski jumping.  

In the resort village, I fuel up with a green smoothie and veggie breakfast wrap from La Baguette, a cheery, Québecois-inspired bakery. Then, I head to the gondola to meet Laura Meggs, the resort’s communications manager. Dressed head-to-toe in black, with only the tips of her blonde hair visible beneath her toque, Meggs exudes that air of effortless cool that all athletic people seem to share. 

As the Revelation Gondola whisks us up to the Mackenzie Outpost, elevation 1,690 metres, she points out the double-black diamond trail below, a steeply-pitched field of boulders and ledges appropriately named Kill the Banker. The butterflies in my stomach transform into bats. I’ve skied exactly once since my son was born five years ago, and that was at Camp Fortune in Gatineau, Que., which tops out at 360 metres. The last time I skied a big mountain was when I lived in Alberta, 15 years ago. 

Meggs does her best to put my mind at ease: despite its reputation, Revelstoke has plenty of easy and intermediate terrain. Off the gondola, we make our way to the Stellar Chair, the resort’s shortest lift and the perfect jumping-off point for some gentle warm-up runs. My nerves dissipate with my first few turns and I quickly remember why I have loved this sport since stepping into my first pair of boots. 

I wake with a kink in my lower back and my stomach in knots, again. I guzzle coffee, twist my hair into a French braid that I hope makes me look sporty and nonchalant, and pull on the padded shorts. Then I head down to the gondola to meet Mike Masongsong, my snowboarding instructor.

Masongsong has a quiet confidence that instantly puts me at ease. Like almost everyone I’ve met whose work revolves around the mountain, Masongsong was not born and raised in Revelstoke, but came here in search of a rush that the less vertiginous topography of eastern Canada could no longer deliver.

“There’s no limit to how much you can challenge yourself at Revy,” he tells me. “There’s always a steeper pitch, more trees, more moguls.” (Do with this information what you will, dear reader.)

I confess that this is to be my first-ever snowboarding lesson, my way of giving the middle finger to middle age.

“Snowboarding is a young person’s sport,” he muses with a smile.  

And yet, over the next three hours, I manage to learn the basics, progressing from pushing the board into a glide on flat ground — a bit like skateboarding, minus the wheels — to grinding slowly down the bunny slope on the back edge of the board to executing somewhat graceful turns with both feet in the bindings. As I grow more confident, Masongsong coaches me to lower my centre of gravity and keep my eyes on where I want to go. Every muscle in my body is engaged as I control my descent; it feels good to push myself physically in a way that my desk job and the demands of parenting rarely allow.

Our lesson concludes with my fastest and best run yet — and my most spectacular wipeout, a hard faceplant that almost knocks the wind out of me and makes me wish I’d invested in wrist guards in addition to the padded shorts. But nothing can wipe the grin from my face, especially when Masongsong tells me I did better than the average beginner.