Of Torsional Flex & Riding Switch

I’ve got two goals this snowboard season: do torsional flex and get comfortable riding switch.

I know what torsional flex is. I’m supposed to twist the front and the back of my snowboard in opposite directions with my feet when turning, trying to almost bend it into a Red Vine. But knowing and doing aren’t the same. I can flex the board; it does happen, but I have to think about it a lot.

There’s so much else I have to think about, as well. Bend my knees, so I’m not so stiff. Put my weight forward; no, wait, lean back sometimes on my rear foot to stop. Put my arms alongside my legs to avoid going into a skier’s stance. That’s where I want to face forward on the board as if it were a giant ski, rather than have my body be aligned lengthwise with it. Damn skiing habits, hard to break, wish I’d never skied at all now.

All this runs through my head like a mantra, reminding me of when I learned to drive. Mirror, signal, blind spot. Mirror, signal, blind spot. Just one of the many things that were drilled into our heads during Driver’s Ed. Plus, look ahead, always look for an “out.” With so many things to remember, it seemed like driving would never feel natural. I couldn’t get the hang of mirrors at first and thought I’d just never use them, instead assuming I’d just look around a lot. And what the hell was a blind spot? I seemed blind to it.

I don’t think about this stuff when driving now. It’s all natural; just happens. Actually, I realized a few years ago that all the steps are still running through my head. I just don’t have to focus on them. See, I watched a video of British police officers doing high performance driving training. They’re taught to say out loud all the possible conflicts they see when driving. “Truck coming toward me; road ahead is wet; pedestrian on sidewalk seems like they might step off.” I say all the same stuff to myself internally, just a regular natural conversation that I have as part of the driving routine.

I want that natural feeling to come to snowboarding, similar to how I want it with scuba diving. My wife asked me once if I was scared of sharks when scuba diving. No, I replied — I’m too busy thinking about all the other things more likely to kill me. What’s my depth? How much oxygen do I have remaining? Did I just breathe too deeply, which will cause me to rise, if I don’t exhale soon or adjust my BCD? Where’s my buddy? I’m feeling pretty good — wait, is that a sign I’m having nitrogen narcosis!

Still, there are the moments when I’m not running through the constant checklist, amazed to be an entirely different world of the sea, surrounded by fish and turtles or even sharks. And I spin on my back to look up from the ocean’s depth, to see the sunlight streaming through from above — and yes, that feels natural.

As for riding switch, that’s where you put your dominant foot at the back of the board, rather than in the front. I’m a regular rider (as opposed to goofy), which means my left foot is dominant (Want to test yourself? Put both feet together and have someone shove you from behind. The foot you put out first? That’s your dominant foot).

I’ve been practicing riding switch because, well, I guess I should know how to do it. I had a lesson; my instructor said it was good to know. Surely he’s right. Unlike torsional flex, the issue with riding switch isn’t one of trying to remember the steps to do. It just feels weird, unnatural and as if I’ll lose control at any moment.

As I go into my turn, panic begins rising as my speed picks up. Will I be able to turn in the opposite direction and regain control? But despite the panic — despite the weirdness, I’m rarely falling. In fact, in some ways it feels better than the usual way I ride. I begin to wonder if I’m actually goofy foot after all.

I read in a magazine recently that it takes 100 repetitions of a turn until you develop “muscle memory,” where your legs just know what to do. So I keep at it, doing the hard, unnatural turns, urging, “learn, muscles, learn.”