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Blog > Thoughts > Other's Thoughts > Chloe's Thoughts > Outriggers

Outriggers

Written by Chloe on Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Assistive devices had made their way into every aspect of my life except for one. The time had come for my first adaptive skiing lesson.

I was skiing a couple of weeks before the lesson, and noted how my techniques had changed in order to accommodate my mild monoparesis. If I am in a wide chute I stick to the left hand side so that there is minimal weight bearing on the left leg during a right turn. Conversely, if I am skiing down a ridge I try to keep to the right hand side. These things are not always possible. I was skiing a 9.6 degree of difficulty very steep chute that was too narrow to do anything but stay close to the middle. I fell over on every single right turn. It wasn’t especially dangerous since there was lots of deep powder. Each time I just got up again, did another two turns and fell over again. I noticed two people watching me from the top. This is the kind of chute that you let one person finish and exit, before leaping in from the top; it’s too dangerous for more than one at a time. I felt a little embarrassed. My skill level is better than this. It exceeds the muscle capability of my left leg. That was a bittersweet moment.

Four-track skiing with outriggers is the appropriate adaptive technique for mild paraparesis or mild monoparesis. I had already discussed this with the folks at the adaptive sports center. The weight during a right turn would be distributed between the left leg and the left outrigger. That should allow me to ski more aggressively; meaning faster on the steep terrain without falling over.

So, I was going to keep things straightforward during the lesson: no mention of BIID, but also no exaggeration of my physical limitations. What I would leave out was that some undetermined part of my monoparesis was probably due to deconditioning, rather than entirely due to nerve damage.

The anticipatory excitement made me arrive 45 minutes prior to the scheduled lesson time. The cafe is very close to the adaptive sports office, so I figured there was time for more breakfast. The girl behind the counter seemed surprised that my order consisted of a large ice cream. She said she thought it was too early in the day for ice cream. I explained that it is never too early for ice cream, since it is one of the essential nutrients. She didn’t seem to understand. Oh well. I headed to the adaptive sports office ten minutes early in any case; WAY too excited to wait any longer.

The first order of business with the instructor was to explain my impairment and how it was affecting my skiing. I referred to the compensatory techniques I was using, noting the circumstances wherein I was having real problems: that 9.6 chute for example. He said that four-track skiing with outriggers would likely be the most appropriate solution. Outriggers are essentially forearm crutches with attached small skis. I have also heard them referred to as crutch-skis; or was it ski-crutches?

The instructor picked out a pair of outriggers to fit me, and then he picked out a pair for himself. I looked at his for a moment, because it hadn’t crossed my mind; but yes of course it made sense for him to use whatever the client was using in order to teach the technique.

We headed outside and I put on my skis. He handed me the outriggers in exchange for my crutch, which he put in the nearby adaptive skiing hut. It felt weird to be back at level 1, having skied up to a 9.7 two weeks earlier. I had to quash that little feeling of insult to my pride. However, in no time at all I discovered that starting out at 1.0 was a very good idea; it was more difficult than I thought it was going to be. When one switches from ski poles to outriggers there is a tendency to treat them as being equivalent. They are not. The technique with outriggers is radically different. Even getting on and off a chair lift is different.

After 35 minutes on the baby lift, the instructor decided I was ready for something more challenging. Speed demon Chloe got unleashed on the blue (intermediate) runs. I was getting the hang of it; learning to trust the outriggers and to think of myself as a quadruped on skis. It was good that I hadn’t attempted to fake anything. It was difficult enough learning the new technique without also occupying my mind with exaggerating an impairment.

After twenty years of experience teaching people with impairments, my instructor was finely attuned to how well adaptive skiing methods were working for the client. He commented that my technique had been quite asymmetric to start off with, but had become more symmetric and graceful as I learned that I didn’t have to worry about my left leg giving way. It was clear to both of us that I was already beginning to ski better, and be more comfortable, with outriggers than I would be without. On our way up he looked over to the left, and then back at me. "Absolutely", I said, anticipating the question. Hell yes! Of course I was ready for a bumped up (moguls) black (advanced) run in the 6.5 to 7.0 degree of difficulty range.

My instructor picked up on very subtle signs of impairment, such as my quivering quadriceps if I stood with the left ski downhill. He asked if my leg became more of a problem over the course of a day’s skiing. "Yes", I said, surprised that he would guess such a thing. "How strong is your right leg?" he added. "Very strong", I replied, not sensing where this was going. "If you come back for another lesson I’d like you to try three-track skiing." "Oh!" I said, surprised. My own perception is that my monoparesis is very mild; but perhaps I’m biased because I want it to be so much more. The instructor’s perception was that the disparity between my legs might be sufficient to warrant forgetting about the left leg entirely. "Just wear a light shoe on your left foot", he said. This seems like a particularly good idea, because then I will already have the technique down for after I get my left leg completely paralysed.

I got another surprise when I mentioned that I was getting significant back pain on account of the different stance associated with using outriggers. "Ah", he said, "You might want to try sit-skiing. A lot of people sit-ski on account of back pain." It had not crossed my mind before, that I already have a physical reason to sit-ski. It should have done, because it was exactly what my GP had said about wheelchairs. I asked about the different outrigger technique for all these adaptive skiing styles. He said that outrigger skills were completely transferrable, unlike poles to outriggers.

I wondered out loud about the possibility of wearing a back brace while four-track skiing. I think that’s what I’ll try next. A back brace worked really well when I was back on the slopes again, four months after the skiing accident.

We never ran out of things to talk about. I asked him how he had got into adaptive skiing instruction. His best friend, and skiing buddy, had become quadriplegic. He wanted them to continue skiing on a equitable basis, so he had taken up sit-skiing despite being able bodied. Very cool! He found that he preferred the various adaptive skiing techniques over AB skiing. I decided against asking him if he liked wheelchairs too.

As my skill improved I started visualising being able to do that 9.6 chute without falling over. After all, I had not even come close to taking a fall during the entire lesson. I shared my aspiration with the instructor. "Yes", he said, "You’ll be able to do anything with outriggers." He had been making frequent comments about my rapid progress, and I was already getting those moments of feeling completely in the groove. You just know when you are doing everything right. I told him my intuition was that I should stay in the low level single black range for a while, until the techniques had become ingrained in kinesthetic memory, before working my way up again. He said that my plan was exactly correct.

During the course of the lesson, as my skill, speed, and aggression had increased, the instructor had gradually lengthened my outriggers and backed off on their adjustable brakes. I asked him how I should set the brakes on something like that 9.6 chute. To my surprise, he said that I should unscrew them entirely. Yippee! No brakes! I started visualing being able to ski difficult terrain faster than I had ever done before. I must have said it out loud, because the instructor said I was right about that too. Yes, I am definitely going to like adaptive skiing.

I had to give up cross-country skiing a long time ago because it reliably triggers fibromyalgia, including the worst episode I’ve ever had. I had been worried that skiing with outriggers might have the same effect. There was no problem. The angle of the forces on my arms and shoulders seemed quite optimal.

Another pleasant surprise is how easy it is for me to fess up about hearing loss these days. A few years ago Alicia would say "You’re deaf", and I’d reply "No I’m not" (or sometimes my answer would be "What?"). Now I’m informed about it, I immediately understand why the swish of snow from my skis obliterates shouts from my ski instructor. After I explained, he was very good about waiting until we were both stopped and face to face.

The biggest surprises of the lesson were the things I did NOT think about. BIID did not cross my mind at all; not once. This came as a surprise, because BIID is actually one of my major motivations for skiing. There is precious little that I am physically unable to do on account of monoparesis. However, it affects my skiing more than anything else. I enjoy being forcefully reminded that I have a real impairment of my leg, however small. With outriggers I was able to ski aggressively without falling over and without significant leg pain. So I felt LESS disabled as a result of using adaptive equipment, and therefore less aware of BIID. It felt good. I can’t help but think that buried in here somewhere is a logical paradox that I have yet to bend my mind around.

When I say that I felt less disabled, what I really mean is that I didn’t feel disabled at all. This felt good too. Another logical paradox for someone with BIID? Or does it simply mean that having BIID is NOT about being disabled per se?

I’ll try to concretise that. At the top of the chair lift one time, we came across another instructor giving a private lesson to a small boy. The instructors chatted while I talked with the boy. He said to me "Those are really cool poles." "Thanks", I said, "They’re called outriggers. I like them a lot." He clearly had no idea that they would be used by PWDs, and it didn’t cross my mind either. They were simply the equipment that I use. It didn’t occur to me during the whole lesson that anyone might be seeing me as a PWD. Isn’t the purpose of an assistive device to take away (a part of) one’s disability? Is this the same thing I wrote about in my last post, that my wheelchair is becoming invisible to me? Magic happens. I have had a continuous feeling of elation since that skiing lesson four days ago.

Tags: Adaptive Sports, Back Brace, BIID, Crutch, Disability, Ice Cream, Impairment, Magic, Monoparesis, Outriggers, Pain, Paralysed, Paraparesis, Quadriceps, Quadriplegic, Quadruped, Skiing, Wheelchair

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