I was 4 years old. I still skied at that point – I didn’t start snowboarding until I was 7 – and I was chasing Taylor down the bumps on the side of a cat track called ‘Why Not’ in Steamboat. We liked to call the bumps ‘whoop-dee-doos.’ I would risk life and limb to keep up with Taylor, and in this particular incident, I managed to hit one of the bumps so hard that my ski binding broke. My dad had to carry me down the mountain on his shoulders.