by Tina Basich
My personal life was changing drastically, too. I hadn’t had a boyfriend for a while because I was busy riding year-round, and now I was getting loads of attention from the press. I was busy doing commercials and interviews and even a video game characterization. And then I met Dave Grohl. His band the Foo Fighters played at the third Boarding for Breast Cancer event in Tahoe. It was a mild attraction at first and we only talked a little bit at the event. But two weeks before the Summer X Games in 1998, I met him again at a video game convention in Atlanta. He was there to play at the kick-off Sony party of the video convention and I was there to promote the new snowboarding video game, Pro-Boarder, in which I was featured as a character. There was a strong chemistry between us. I blew off practicing for the X Games up at Mt. Hood to go on our first official date: the Tibetan Freedom Concert in Washington, D.C.
Goofing off on the Pocket Rockets with Dave.
This was the beginning of a crazy summer, filled with award shows, goofing off on Pocket Rocket minibikes, touring, and several awkward and unfamiliar situations. I thought I knew what pressure was all about before I met Dave, but I learned quickly from dating someone “famous” that there are pressures you cannot avoid. It made my snowboarding world seem tame and controllable. I was used to being outdoors and traveling to mountains to go snowboarding. My destinations were usually peaceful and calming, with fresh powder. Suddenly I was with a guy who was going from city to city every night and being in clubs and concert halls. We were always up late. And it seemed like everyone wanted a piece of him. I’d be leaving backstage with him, holding hands, and girls would still be coming up and giving him their phone numbers. It was a vibe I was not used to and I tried to be cool with it all.
Over the two years that we dated, snowboarding seemed to take a backseat in my priorities. I was spending more time with Dave and experiencing his lifestyle, which wasn’t always easy. One night, Dave was invited to the Playboy mansion for a Midsummer Night’s Dream pajama party. The whole band decided to go, so we went shopping for pj’s. I bought Pooh Bear flannel pajamas and a stuffed Pooh Bear to carry with me, plus slippers, and I wore my hair in pigtails. I felt like I had the complete outfit. Dave got silk pajamas, which is what all the guys there were wearing, even Hugh. When we got out of the limo at the mansion, the first person I saw was Tori Spelling in like ten-inch spiked heels that could poke an eye out, and she only wore a feather boa and a skimpy teddy. I instantly felt so out of place; it was more like a lingerie party. I should have known. There were boobs and butts and feather boas everywhere—I was definitely the only girl there in flannel.
Like high school, I fell under the pressure of being different, but this time I headed straight for the bar. A few lemon drop shots later, I was making friends with all the bunnies and even got a photo taken with Hugh and Miss June. It ended up being a really fun party with lots of weird celebrity sightings like Jim Carrey, George Clooney, Weird Al Yankovic, and Jerry Springer, who told me to never watch his show because it was trash. By the end of the night I was regretting my decision to drink my insecurities away and ended up puking on the front yard while we were waiting for the limo to take us home. I was so embarrassed. I remember getting in the limo and yelling back to the group of people standing there, “Please tell Hugh I’m sorry for puking in his front yard!”
Even with all of these new experiences, at this point, my career was stronger than it had ever been and I was getting lots of attention for pulling off my 720 and doing an inverted version at the X Games. The film guys who didn’t want to use me before were suddenly calling. Guess I wasn’t a waste of film anymore. But I stuck with Justin because he’d stuck it out with me. Yet even with all of this new fame, there was also an invitation to be a part of Dave’s life and I was falling for him. In some weird way, I found myself falling in love with Dave and out of love with snowboarding. My priorities were changing and this fueled my fears and the pressures to still compete.
I was entered in the big air for the 1999 Winter X Games and anxiously awaiting snowboarding season. As winter approached, I started to have major anxiety about the contest. I was returning to defend my first-place title and felt so much pressure that I would wake myself up in the middle of the night blurting out, “I can’t do it!” I didn’t know how to handle this new kind of pressure. I had this awful feeling that I was going to get injured at the contest. Maybe a small part of me wanted to be injured with a tiny sprained ankle just so I wouldn’t have to do it. It gave me a stomachache just thinking about it.
Still, I was a professional and had obligations to perform, so in January of 1999, I traveled out to the X Games with the intention of competing in the big-air event. I had not shared my feelings of fear with anyone, not even with Dave, who was now my boyfriend. I showed up ready to go, but not really. The big-air event was scheduled for the last day of the contest. I waited through five days of competition and ended up not competing in the slopestyle event to save my energy for the big air.
On the morning of the big-air competition, I woke up and forced myself to go through the motions. I stretched out and made sure my board was waxed and ready to go. I watched the Weather Channel and packed up my backpack as usual. As I was going through my morning routine, I realized that I really wanted out of this situation. The night before, Dave had told me that he wanted to have a family with me, and it was in the forefront of my mind. This was the first time I thought it was for real. As I stood on top of the jump at the big air, staring blankly at the landing, I thought maybe I was ready to give this up and start the next stage of my life. But could I give it up?
Ironically, the weather was changing and the wind was picking up and the contest ended up being postponed until the next day. I thought this was a sign that I wasn’t supposed to compete. I was thinking too much and reading into every situation that surfaced. My parents were there and their flights were not changeable and Dave had to get back to start recording his new album, which meant if I did it, I’d be there alone to compete. I decided not to do the contest. There was no way I could compete in this frame of mind. I couldn’t even visualize myself at the top of the jump. We all packed up and left town. On our drive to the airport I almost turned around, thinking, “How could I not be a part of this?” Snowboarding was my life. But for some reason I think I wasn’t supposed to be in that competition. I was so confused about my place in snowboarding and trying to figure out what my place was in Dave’s life, not to mention my own. Things were so unclear and confusing and I needed to figure it all out, but had no idea what to do.
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should I let my boyfriend teach me how to snowboard?
Only if he has great patience. It’s easy to get frustrated, so if you don’t want to hear the phrase “Just do it!” all day long, take a lesson and meet up with him for lunch. The lessons at resorts are affordable these days and really helpful. Snowboard instructors have come up with techniques that really help to make your first day a great experience. Also, it’s a little embarrassing falling on your face all day in front of your boyfriend, and believe me you will take some falls.
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should I teach my boyfriend how to snowboard?
If you have a great, easygoing relationship, absolutely! Take the opportunity to tell your boyfriend what to do for the day. It can be a great day filled with funny moments and laughs. But, if your relationship is at all competitive, teaching your boyfriend how to snowboard could lead you down the wrong path. In this case, I would recommend putting him in a lesson while you go out and get some fresh powder turns, and meet up with him for lunch.
Most of my boyfriends have been great snowboarders. Trying to keep up with them on the mountain always pushed my abilities and confidence. The days of trying to keep up with Andy Hetzel at Snowbird in Utah made me a better snowboarder. He never let me take the easiest line down the mountain. One of the first questions I asked David when I met him was, “Do you snowboard?” He had a few days under his belt.
He did pretty well the few days we went snowboarding together. I always pretended to look the other way when he’d catch an edge and fall.
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Practicing at the ’99 X Games.
Copyright © Justin Hostynek/Absinthe Films
Feeling pretty after crashing on my snowboard.
Copyright © Scott Sullivan
CHAPTER 13
DOWNTIME
I used to think there wasn’t a “zone” required for an athlete to be in to have a peak performance. I thought if you had the balls to do it, then just go out there and do it. But why couldn’t I just do it at the X Games? Physically, I knew I was capable of jumping the big air at that contest, but my mind-set was not in the zone. I didn’t realize that frame of mind isn’t something that’s always there.
I had not entered a contest since driving away from the Winter X Games. I thought I’d try the big-air competition again in the Summer X Games. Yet for the rest of the season, I was still snowboarding hard, traveling a lot, and filming with Justin.
On the last day of the season, May 20, 1999, at Mammoth Mountain, California, I was doing an interview for Transworld Snowboarding magazine and needed a sequence shot of my backside 720. I had to get this shot to make the interview complete. I was burned out from being on the road and feeling like I wasn’t 100 percent that day. Summer was around the corner and I was ready for warm weather and flip-flops. Dave was recording his new album and I was looking forward to spending more time with him. I didn’t read my instincts, which basically said I didn’t feel like snowboarding that day. My head just wasn’t in it. I felt like I was forcing myself to do the photo shoot when I was really just in the mood to have a kick-back last day of the season riding with my girlfriends.
That morning, I was warming up with my backside 3’s (360 rotations) off the jump where the photo shoot was to take place in the snowboard park. All morning I’d been looking for the photographer who was supposed to get this shot. I went inside for lunch, then came back out to look for him again. I finally found him, and by the time we were set for the shot, the snow had turned to slush, which meant it was a slower run into the jump than it had been earlier in the day.
I was rushing myself and didn’t take that into consideration. I started at the same point I had been in the morning and headed for the jump knowing that I only had to pull this off once and the photographer would get the sequence shot and my obligations would be filled. I was over it, riding that day, competing that season, and wanted to figure out my life.
I thought I had the perfect amount of speed, but when I took off from the lip and launched into the air, in that first second, I knew I was going too slow. I was already in the rotation of my 720, spinning as tightly as I could, wanting to get really small so maybe my spin would make up for my lack of speed. But I didn’t even get my spin all the way around. It’s a gut-wrenching feeling dangling in the air, just knowing I’m never going to make the landing, let alone the trick. There’s a split second when everything’s in slow motion. Looking down at the landing zone from the air, I’m thinking, “How much is this going to hurt me?”
I landed flat, on the top deck, all the air knocked from my lungs, missing the downhill slope of the landing by two feet. It all seemed so slow in the air, but it happened really fast. I crashed so hard—like hitting cement—that my body bounced like a rubber doll with a board attached into the landing zone. I just lay there, absolutely motionless.
Another snowboarder who was also filming went off right behind me and almost ran into me because I was just lying there. Photographer Patti Segovia was nearby and ran over to help me take my board off my feet. I don’t know why, but I told her my arms were OK and she dragged me by my arms off to the side of the jump.
Usually when I crash I do a flex test where I flex my neck, then my arms, then my back, butt, thighs, calves, feet, checking to see if everything is OK. This time I didn’t do that because I could feel immediately all of my energy rushing to the bottom of my right leg. I knew something was hurt, but I’d never broken a bone before so I didn’t know what that felt like. I was sitting on the side of the run holding my leg up in the air in case it was swelling inside my boot, replaying what had just happened in my head. My leg didn’t hurt, it just felt really hot, and I was in shock. That day, I happened to be snowboarding with a group of girlfriends and they all came down when they saw me crash. They kept saying, “If it was broken you would be screaming right now. You probably just sprained it.” I believed them. But they were so wrong.
I got towed down in the emergency sled by ski patrollers. It costs $800 to be driven to the hospital in the ambulance from the resort and they gave me the option to find my own ride, so I called my friend and teammate Mark Frank to come pick me up because my car was parked at the hotel we were all staying at. He drove my Impala up the mountain and took me to the hospital. If you’re going to ride to the hospital, you might as well ride in style. I was wheeled into the emergency room by a nurse. She let go of the wheelchair for a second to get something and the chair went forward and I instinctually put my leg out to catch myself and put all of my weight on my hurt leg. That’s when I felt the pain. It was sharp like a knife twisting in, causing shooting pains up my bones. Tears started rolling down my face.
They put me on so much morphine I was slobbering on myself and called my mom and dad and Dave and left the most pathetic messages. The doctors said they were going to cut off my boot to get to the injury and I said, “No!” I’d worn these boots all season and in snowboarding, having a pair of boots that are perfectly worn to your foot is a valuable thing. I didn’t want them to cut it off, so I took it off myself and forced my foot out of my boot. When they took my sock off, my foot looked disgusting, it was so swollen. It didn’t look like a foot—it was all crooked. It was already starting to turn yellow and blue. I was dazed staring at it and kept saying in my head, “That’s not my foot, that’s not my foot…” It was the only way I could remove it from my body because having a part of your body broken like that makes you sick to your stomach. I felt like I was going to faint.
They took X rays and came out and told me the details of my injury. I had a broken fibula and tibula with a spiral fracture up one side. I didn’t understand the extent of my injuries and stared at my doctor. What was he saying? Things kept echoing. Did he just say I was not going to be snowboarding for a while? How long? A month? All season?? But I’m a professional athlete! This is my life. It is my career. I cannot be hurt. I cannot not snowboard. What about my sponsors?
This was the first time that I was forced to take time off from snowboarding without my making that decision. It was so unfair. I’d trained so hard. My parents drove from Sacramento straight to the hospital to be with me. The hospital flew in a doctor from L.A. and I was operated on the next day. He put three pins in my ankle and it looked like a Frankenstein attachment with stitches going up both sides of my leg.
I spent the next month at my parents’ house, living in the recliner chair in the living room. My mom bought me so many art supplies to keep me busy, and I think I watched every single movie from Block-buster. It was so hard for me to get around with crutches and it started messing with the alignment of my back so I ended up not using them. I would literally scoot around the house on my butt to avoid using crutches. It was horrible and humbling. I was a big-air snowboarder who’d jumped off cliffs and 60-foot gaps and ridden Alaska’s backcountry. Now I was on my butt, not even able to walk. I had so much time to think about everything. I thought about the times when I’d call from Alaska to check in on my friend Angie at home, and she would tell me about her day, her job, being stuck in traffic, going to the gym on the way home, plans for a barbecue and camping trips on the weekends. Some days I’d think, I wish that traffic was my only worry. It sounded so safe and in a weird way I was jealous. My life had no schedule and was dangerous and unpredictable. I’d been riding nonstop, winters and most summers, for twelve years. But I was so used to feeling the se
asons and I loved the anticipation of new snow, how it smelled when the seasons changed, and how it felt breathing in the cold air. Now, I was broken down and I couldn’t feel the seasons at all. I couldn’t feel the snow under my feet.
My hardware.
After being laid up for a month, I was ready for my leg to be better and to get my life back to normal—at least to be able to walk. I thought about what Monica had said, about being fortunate enough to at least be able to put both feet on the ground and appreciate the simple fact that I was living. What I had in comparison was nothing. It’s funny how you don’t think of such things until they happen to you, and then it’s the worst thing in the world and you remember all that you’d thought you’d learned but obviously, maybe, truly didn’t absorb.
When I went in for my walking cast, the doctor said he was going to move my foot to a 90-degree angle, but before he even finished the sentence I said, “You can’t move it, it’s broken.” He moved it and I fainted. He had to wake me up with smelling salts. I was pathetic, but this was my first injury and I didn’t know what to expect. Up until this moment I had felt completely invincible. I was Superwoman and could do anything on my snowboard. I was in the zone. After I got hurt, I realized how much it really breaks you down. You have so much downtime to really think about the risks you’re taking and the consequences that they bring. It’s crazy to know that no matter how much I’d trained and practiced, I still didn’t have total control of my career. It was a horrible reality check.