September, 2001
After Twenty-Seven Years of Waiting...
There is a point in a back flip I call the "still point" that occurs when you are exactly upside down. The entire world is quiet and you are peacefully rotating through the air--completely relaxed.
I'm sure there was one, but I really can't remember a day that I have not wanted to be able to do a backflip on my skis. I remember the one kid in high school who could do it was a God-like hero. The idea nagged at me, but I never seriously pursued it until graduate school. I enrolled in gymnastics my first two years in graduate school in order to learn front and back flips. While I became confident doing them on the gymnastics floor, I still did not have the courage to try it on my skis.
Then one day I happened to pick up a City Weekly (free Salt Lake paper) that had an article about camps being offered at the Utah Olympic Park. The article said that anyone could sign up for a one to three day camp on the water ramps. U.S. aerials team coaching would be provided. The money was no object, I had to do it.
I managed to convince my partners in crime, Misha and Greg, that they too had the money to blow on such an activity, and we all proceeded up to the Olmpic Park one cold September day. We spent the morning training on the trampoline, and then spent all afternoon skiing down the plastic ramps into the big 'ol swimming pool.
I really cannot remember having MORE FUN!!! This was the dumbest, most rediculous fun imaginable. The water surface of the pool is bubbled to break up the water tension, thus the landing position is not critical on the smaller jumps (as we all tested).
Here are a few stills taken from digital video of me doing my first-ever, back layout on my skis. I think I landed on my feet three out of the four times I tried it. My fourth time was a face sampling.
Here are some cuts from the video of Greg and I treating ourselves to some more inversion therapy:
Click here for Quicktime movie.
It took me the better part of the following ski season to get the nerve (and find the right jump) to do it on snow, but in early April of 2002, I finally went for my first backflip on snow. Located on the side of a beginner run at Deer Valley (of all places!), was the perfect jump--a long transition that ended at nearly vertical. I tested it twice and then informed my wife what I was about to do. She put her helmet on my head, took my poles, and skied off towards the jump. With her standing on the lip of the jump, I pushed off hard towards the jump. I had rehearsed exactly what would happen many times. Just as I passed the "still point," I remember hearing my ex-gymnast wife screaming at me to look up. I then opened my eyes (!!!?), spotted the landing, and somehow nailed the landing on my first try. I collapsed in fits of screaming and laughter. I was a complete wreck. It had only taken twenty seven years.
©Aaron Lefohn 2002
