Photos courtesy of Lisa Niver
“Hold. Hold. And left turn. Turn. Great job! Lisa, did you see that turn? Hold. Hold. And . . . right turn. Turn, turn.” Instructor Patricia Stokes continues to issue directives as we descend Utah’s Park City Mountain. “OK, now we’re in an open field—you pick your next turns. Feel the slope and decide, but you may want to turn your skis from 9 o’clock to 3 o’clock.” Skiers with visual impairments require continuous auditory cues. It’s why Stokes speaks to her student, Jennifer Kennedy, constantly. If Kennedy, who is blind, cannot hear Stokes, she is to tap her helmet. If the disconnect continues throughout a count to five, she is trained to stop skiing altogether, and drop her uphill hip to the snow.
I am spending a day on the slopes with the National Ability Center (NAC), which began in 1985 as the Park City Handicapped Sports Association. Founders Meeche White and Pete Badewitz were seasoned Coloradoan ski instructors, specializing in individuals with disabilities. In the 30-plus years since hatching the idea of the NAC in their kitchen, their center has grown to serve more than 4,000 individuals with disabilities, providing 28,000 experiences each year. Adventurers with physical, developmental, or cognitive challenges are encouraged to apply to a broad range of programs—the NAC offers year-round opportunities for aspiring skiers and snowboarders, equestrians, mountain bikers, rock climbers, biathletes, archers, and more.
All lift operators and team members here are trained to help skiers of all abilities as they approach lifts and runs. NAC instructors use a variety of techniques with students who have visual impairments, from holding onto a bar alongside pupils while they get a feel for the sensation of downhill skiing, to skiing backwards in front of a student, to control speed, while giving auditory cues. Many also rely on microphones and ear pieces to dispatch these cues from a distance. Staffers are uniformly helpful, well-trained, and extremely responsive to the varying abilities of their students. Some skiers stand to ski, while others use monoskis or biskis (in which a seat and foot rest is mounted on a shock absorber, attached to one or two skis, which allows the skier to turn using handheld outriggers).
After moving to Utah a few years ago, Kennedy was inspired to give skiing a try, reasoning, “If I don't learn to like something outside, I am gonna be real bored here.” Although Kennedy and her husband hike in the summer and are now learning to ski, the same immune disorder that caused her visual impairment affects her energy levels, so she has to be careful. Having heard great reviews of NAC, however, she decided to hit the slopes.
Stokes uses the clock face model to call out cues as she starts Kennedy on our next run—“12 o’clock” being the direction of Kennedy’s nose. She is to turn to 9 o’clock or 10 o'clock for left, and 2 o’clock or 3 o’clock for right. Once Kennedy’s moving downhill, Stokes employs the word “and” to indicate when it’s time to turn, followed by “left” or “right” to indicate the direction. When Stokes calls out “turn,” Kennedy steers her skis around the turn. If Stokes says “hold,” Kennedy stops steering and holds that line to traverse the hill. Should a situation arise where Kennedy must stop immediately, their agreed-upon word is “halt.” If Stokes shouts it, Jennifer knows to drop her uphill hip into the snow, sit down, and wait for assistance.
Kennedy explains that visual impairment used to hinder her self-confidence. “In college, I once canceled a date I wanted to go on, because I didn’t think I could get to the location. When I got disoriented, I would just cry. I felt like a 19-year-old prisoner in my own dorm room, afraid to go out. I simply ordered pizza in.”
After college, she spent nine months attending the Louisiana Center for the Blind, a private residential blindness-skills-training center, started by members of the National Federation of the Blind, a consumer advocacy group. There, Kennedy says she learned to be independent and to rely on herself with confidence. Both she and Daniel agree that without that step, they would never have married. Now, to help others in her position find their way, Kennedy teaches cane travel. She maintains her confidence in her abilities, she says, by continually finding ways to challenge herself.
As Anna Benanati, a double leg amputee since age 17, and the only female full-time athlete on staff at the National Ability Center, explains, “Really, I had two choices: I could give up, or I could get up. And I made the conscious decision to get up and keep living.”
Lisa Niver is a travel expert, writer, artist, entrepreneur, and on-camera host who has explored more than 95 countries. She blogs at We Said Go Travel.
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