Stupid Name or Not

Now I was flyingfabu. Around the time that I started swing dancing and cycling, I was freelancing. Word of mouth is huge in my industry—I got all my work that way at the time—and I was recommended to someone at Primo Angeli. Primo’s was named for its founder, an incredibly talented and wild persona. It also happened to be one of the top ten design firms in the world at the time. This was before they all became absorbed, one by one, to conglomerates that devoured them—just in case you were wondering how I really felt about it. This was a dream come true and I was over the moon to work there. Before I knew it I had a full-time job. I discovered a commaraderie among coworkers that I only experienced one other time, much later, at Clorox. We hung out together, went drinking after work, dined out, and even went on a few trips. I’m still in touch with some and one of them is one of my closest friends to date.

On one of those occasions, James, my boss, asked if I’d be interested in taking a snowboarding lesson with him. He was an avid surfer and thought he might enjoy snowboarding. I, on the other hand, was absolutely terrified of the idea that both my feet could be strapped to a board and I would be trapped. Snowboarding was for teenage boys! Rebels! You think I kid but some resorts didn’t even allow snowboarding on their slopes back then. These were the before days. Snowboarders were often yelled at on the slopes by skiiers. Just a bunch of hooligans wreaking havoc at every turn. This was probaby around 1998-99. Being a little awed and envious, because let’s face it, it looked like so much fun, I was also terrified. Of course I said yes. I then proceeded to spend an entire day threatening to develop a concussion, break a wrist or two, or fracture my tailbone. My boots were laced so tightly that I developed cramps. It was miserable. And I looked terrible. I’m not joking. I was wearing tight black ski pants, a yellow windbreaker, (a windbreaker?), an orange beanie and a black and white polka-dotted fanny pack to carry essentials in, like my camera. I have pictures to prove it. Naturally, I continued to do it. It just looked like so much fun when guys flew past me. I say guys because the ratio of guys to girls snowboarding skewed heavily towards guys. Thankfully, it’s no longer like that.

I continued to try to injure myself repeatedly by face-planting, landing hard on my ass, or tumbling myself into oblivion for an entire season. I managed not to break anything but I did constantly sprain fingers and I closed the season by tearing my hamstring from my sitsbone so badly that I had to use a cane for month. My coworkers kept asking me Why? It’s simple. How could I know if I enjoyed an activity if I couldn’t yet perform it? I loved being out in the snow, I loved being outdoors, I loved that it was hard work on my body. The injuries were just par for the course for the time being. Did I mention that I was still terrified? I really wanted to learn how to fly like those guys I saw. They looked so cool. Did I mention that I was 30 years old? I proceeded to start and end my second season on the same day by tumbling in powder and tearing tendons in my left ankle on my first run. To this day I’m a little intimidated by powder and still have to get over the mental hump. But here’s the thing, I persevered. I bought better, and much, much warmer gear. Seriously though, a windbreaker? Without a car, I found other likeminded San Franciscans and did rideshares with them in exchange for companionship and splitting the price of gas. I even hauled all my gear and walked many blocks in the dark to take the shuttle bus to Tahoe that left from the City at 5:30am on several occassions. I was pretty committed. I kept telling myself that even without a natural proclivity towards it, the sheer act of doing it repeatedly would result in improvements. It did. In the end, I learned how to fly. Really well and fast, in fact.

Many years into it, I had started to plateau. I had retired my trusty all-mountain Burton Custom when it started chattering because I was riding so fast—which felt a little unnerving—and picked up a performance board specifically designed for speed, a Burton Feelgood ES. My then-partner and I would go to Sandpoint, ID to visit his mom over long weekends. She was a ski instructor so we naturally spent our days at Schweitzer. It’s safe to say that I gave it my all down those groomers. I loved nothing more than the sensation of flying. It required confidence and precision, both of which I earned the hard way. I discovered my tenacity and developed a self-assurance that translated to other aspects of my life. In my next era of snowboarding, I started riding with my friend T. It seemed ridiculous that we’d become such close friends over the years who loved snowboarding yet had never gone up together. He moved to South Lake Tahoe for a time so that he could ride most days. It took him moving away for us to finally start riding together. I went up as many weekends as I could, with or without friends, and stayed at his place. I made friends with the woman he was seeing, also a fellow snowboarder, and sometimes stayed with her at her parents’ cabin. T was so much better than us yet incredibly patient as he would calmly point out what we were going to do next and how to do it. I think I must have heard him cheerfully say something like “it’s easy, just follow me and do what I do” several hundred times. We called riding with him “T’s boot camp”. In the boot camp, I learned how to ride through trees, make tight turns, and catching a little air off every kicker. I was playing all day in the snow. I was doing this on the Feelgood which was no easy feat but it did turn my legs to steel. That year, I got 25 days in and bought a much shorter and flexible park board: my beautiful and bright Burton Lipstick. A much friendlier board for the 180s I learned to do in gulleys, courtesy of T’s boot camp on a slushy spring day at Mt. Rose. Still flying, just differently.

These days, I’ve grown mellower. That’s not exactly true. However, I cherish my time in Tahoe with my husband and dog, and what I really mean is that I cherish really slow mornings with really good coffee with them. I cherish the mandatory walks to the snowy golf course to let our dog, a rescue greyhoud named Misa, run and do zoomies because it brings her so much joy. I cherish not rushing to the slopes when so much of my life has revolved around deadlines and timeliness and hurrying. I’m content with just a few hours on the slopes. I make them count. I still love the trees. I still love catching a little air. After digging myself out of powder repeatedly and wearing myself out, I’ve finally retired my park board for a powder-friendly board, a Lib Tech Orca, so that I can ride powder with my husband, a man who loves his skis. I’m pleased with my all-mountain board. I’ve come full circle but still flying.

@2026 Fabienne Jach. All rights reserved.