A snowboard teaches a great deal, especially when it is experienced in its most free and creative form. It takes on the role of a teacher, just like the mountain itself. And of an endless brush on a blank canvas, as Emil Zulian explains. The story of this former professional athlete, now an early-stage instructor, reads like the perfect manifesto of a life lived at altitude.

Rooted in the ability to draw inspiration from its surroundings, sporting, social, cultural, and artistic alike, this is a path that understands how to turn an interweaving of meanings and symbols into a personal expression. One that ultimately comes to grasp the deepest value of this process of growth and self-definition, choosing to pass it on to future generations.

His profile resonates with every core principle behind the Altavia by Deborah Compagnoni line, where sport and movement cease to be performances for their own sake and instead become gateways to a vision that places the mountain, its rhythms, its emotions, and its knowledge, at the center of every human journey.

Would you say the mountains are the beating heart of your life? And how did snowboarding enter that relationship?

“It is. I still live in Val di Fassa today. My family is originally from this area: we’ve always been here. We own a mountain hut, so I’ve always had a very strong connection to this place. This is ski land. Snowboarding, especially about twenty years ago, wasn’t really popular, it wasn’t truly practiced. I started skiing when I was three years old, and shortly after I realized that wasn’t my path. Partly to follow my older brother, partly because I liked being “the different one,” I started riding a board. I liked it immediately: the jumps, riding off-piste, the first competitions with the local club… Then the National Team and events around the world. Everything happened very naturally.”

How did you experience the mountains during your childhood and teenage years?

“The best part for me was finishing school, eating as fast as possible, heading out to the snow, and meeting up with friends. Ultimately, I think it’s normal for anyone who grows up in the mountains: it’s like going to the local football court in the city. You waited for the school bell just to escape into your world, made of endless laps up and down the mountain on your board. They’re beautiful habits, beautiful memories. I always took something away from those afternoons. I also have incredible memories with my family. For example, I think about when my father would go up to the hut for the winter season, and I’d call him every day as soon as I saw some snow falling: “Hey Dad, how much snow came down?” The hut is about a thousand meters higher than the village, so I knew it would snow more up there. I’d ask him the exact same question every hour. To me, the mountains were a playground. In my eyes, they were a paradise that allowed me to do everything: build jumps, invent tricks, or repeat the ones my friends and I could only see in videos.”

Can we say that the mountains, with their environments and rhythms, shaped you?

“They did more than shape me: they forged me as a human being. Yes, the mountains forged me. We shouldn’t take for granted how demanding this environment is. As a kid, you don’t realize it, because it feels normal. As you grow up, you encounter people who have comforts in everyday life that you don’t have, or never had, and you start to understand the real impact mountain life has had on your identity. You realize that, in the end, it was a privilege to learn how to live this way. I’m also talking about ‘simple’ things: having to walk a long way to get to school, helping out at the hut as a kid, sport itself. I’ve always felt that here, even just in the air, there was a certain sense of difficulty compared to what a child growing up in the city might breathe in. At the same time, I think the mountains taught me unique things tied to nature. Growing up in close contact with the elements, being able to wander through the woods whenever you want, climbing alone or with friends, with no rules other than those of nature itself. All of this shaped me and gave me a strength that I believe is truly unique.”

On a creative level, did the natural elements around you influence your approach to sport, as well as to life?

“Absolutely. The freestyle approach is all about seeing the mountain through your own eyes, in a deeply personal way. Anyone can see a slope; I see a wall where you can build a takeoff, a landing. Every freestyler sees different shapes and architectures. This is the vision of the mountain that this discipline gives you. For every freestyler, the mountain takes on different meanings. When it comes to pure creativity, snowboarding pushed me to develop it from a very young age. I remember that when I was nine, I built a jump right next to our hut. I made it using a bench, creating something like a box. It was a day when no one was around, probably a period just before Christmas. My dad towed me with a snowmobile for hours and hours, with the sole purpose of letting me take as many laps as possible. Those images are still incredibly vivid in my memory. They perfectly describe the reality I lived as a kid.”

Beyond snowboarding, how would you describe life in a mountain village?

“Living in a small mountain village, you can do whatever you want, in the most positive sense of the phrase. I was always in the woods, building bases, jumps, and obstacles with friends. I was always ready to do different activities. Then came the first motorbikes. In the mountains, first motorbikes mean motocross or trial bikes. So you’d ride everywhere, however and wherever you wanted. There was a kind of freedom that you obviously couldn’t have elsewhere. There were no cell phones, in the sense that there was no signal. You’d disappear, disconnect from everything and everyone, have fun, and of course your parents would get mad. As we grew older, the fun expanded into more social situations too. By the time we were 15 or 16, every weekend meant après-ski: a true classic. We’d do it after full days on the snow. Thanks to so many friends, I learned to experience the mountains also as moments of celebration: starting from fresh snow shared together, from joy, from the euphoria of different situations.”

The mountain as a teacher, then, but also as a wonderful playground? 

“Yes. As a kid, the playful side was definitely dominant. But there was also the work side: having to help out, pick up tools, mow fields, rake, take care of what surrounded the house. Play always fit in between one responsibility and another. At the center of everything, though, was respect for the mountain. That comes naturally when the mountain is the core of your life: you also see it as something that deserves respect. You know it’s dangerous, that you can’t control it. You have to be careful: storms, avalanches, animals, getting lost, the cold. It only takes a moment to get hurt. You grow up with danger, and danger teaches you respect. The mountain is something that goes beyond your actions, beyond what you can do or decide.”

You’ve already described your first encounter with snowboarding and its impact on you. Can you go deeper into the reasons, sensations, and emotions behind this passion?

“Skiing meant following rules, insanely strict schedules, and an overwhelming level of commitment already at five, six, seven years old. The programs were extremely intense. Snowboarding, on the other hand, represented your way of doing things. Again, even just being ‘the different one’ always appealed to me. That’s what truly pushed me to continue, and it’s also the core concept of freestyle itself: showing your style, showing who you are, in every movement and gesture. It’s not just about speed, about getting to the bottom of a course, or competing for a team. It’s about expressing who you are. That freedom is what made me start, what made me continue, and what now drives me forward with the goal of helping others do the same. I want to help them express themselves, just as I was helped. Because snowboarding truly changed my life.”

How does the idea of helping younger riders express themselves through snowboarding feel today, in your role as an instructor?

“I’m really just at the beginning, I haven’t done much yet. But from the moment I decided I wanted to do this, I set myself the goal of passing on these messages. Just having the opportunity feels like an incredible privilege. Sometimes I think it’s actually the kids who give more to me. All you have to do is translate what they’re already feeling. The passion young people have for sport is incredibly powerful, and it fascinates me. On snow, it’s really about sharing emotions: emotions that help athletes grow tremendously, but coaches too. There’s this mutual exchange: they give something to you, and you give something back. It happens in sync. And that’s what I want to do in life.”

How do you describe the mountains to your young athletes?

“As a place where you can truly feel free to be yourself. Free to be who you want to be. From a movement perspective, you have endless space and countless situations to do an incredible number of things. It’s paradise. And then there’s snow. It’s an amazing element even on a purely practical level: through tools like skis or boards, you can experience unique sensations using only your legs, your strength, your energy. It’s as if your body transforms. You can go incredibly fast, you can fly, you can jump and feel suspended in midair. I’ve always experienced snowboarding like a video game, where you’re constantly unlocking new skills.”

You’ve talked a lot about freedom. What was it like transitioning from that pure freedom to joining the National Team and becoming a professional?

“As you grow up, you have to accept that life involves compromises. I actually understood that very early, growing up in the mountains. Having to help out, knowing that if something needs to be done, you do it, so that afterward you can go out with your friends. I never saw these ‘obligations’ as something negative. They were simply more difficult moments that brought just as much satisfaction. In the mountains, you have to follow certain rules and responsibilities, but it’s precisely those that lead you to results that truly feel like your own. It’s like trying and retrying a trick: landing something difficult, something others might not be able to do, creates the same feeling. It connects sacrifice and reward. In my case, that mindset led to a beautiful moment of personal fulfillment: “They called me up to the National Team.” It’s hard to describe. While it was happening, I didn’t fully realize it. It was a long, gradual path: first competitions, better results compared to friends and peers, the feeling of having something extra. The first sponsorship, from a small local shop, was the real indicator of that transition. Honestly, that moment impacted me even more than joining the National Team. Not that the National Team didn’t matter, it absolutely did, but it was part of a long-term process that had already passed through regional committees, national championships, and many other steps. I still remember an interview, I must have been around ten years old, when they asked me: “Do you realize this will be your life?” I didn’t know how to answer, because to me that was normal life. It didn’t feel special.”

After all these years, do you still love your discipline in its purest, most childlike sense? Or has that love changed?

“It’s changed a lot. It’s been a continuous evolution. At first, it was just about having fun and being with the people who filled my life. It was synonymous with that adrenaline you chase as a kid. Then it became a way to show my potential, my feelings. At that point, snowboarding had already transformed into something more complex and dense. Then it became a job, but I always experienced it positively, with all its different facets. Now, the goal is to help someone else live what I lived, and that makes me feel fulfilled. I often think about one of my former coaches from the local club. To me, he’s still a hero. He had also been part of the National Team, but I found out years later, after he’d been coaching me for a long time. He never emphasized his athletic background. What mattered to him was experiencing snowboarding as something to enjoy together. It’s no coincidence that all the athletes from that team are now instructors or coaches. He managed to pass on a powerful passion, and we carried it forward, making it the center of our lives. That’s my dream: to have the same impact on the next generations.”

Today, beyond snowboarding, what other activities fill your life in the mountains?

“As I said, my competitive career is over. Last summer and fall, I worked as a coach. It’s a strange transition: you go from being the center of attention to working behind the scenes. That first shift, realizing competitions won’t be your life anymore, can really shake you. I won’t say it was easy. I went through a period of mental confusion. Then I came to the conclusion that staying in the snowboarding world would bring me a lot of happiness: happiness that I could then pass on to others. Beyond snowboarding, everything related to mountain outdoor life has always inspired me. I love cycling, MTB, road, gravel, and hiking in general. I also dream of starting paragliding. I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, but I definitely will.”

How do you feel today when you’re on the board?

“I feel like I did at the beginning. Thanks to the skills I’ve developed, though, I can now use the natural environment around me with a different sensitivity and skillset, fully following my instincts. I spot a small roll, a jump, or a line that lets me build speed, and I follow the flow. With snowboarding, you can truly do things you can’t do anywhere else, or with any other tool. Most of all, you enter a world with completely different rules. Another world: one I continue to live in happily.”