Where I live, skiing is an integral part of life. It funds the various ski areas, which is good for us because it means we get (goddamn) tourists who pay to stay in pricey places and eat at our various establishments and shop for things nobody ever needs. In other words, its good for our economy. Little kids, as young as two, even younger in fact, are stuck on little wooden boards and told to "Just feel their way" down the mountain, are bribed with pizza and french fries for one more run. Seven year olds are given back protectors and shoved into gates, children are taught to be addicted to speed and risk and the sport itself. Daredevils put on huge, double-tipped skis and vault themselves over various objects. People throw themselves in between the trees, fly over cliffs, faceplant in fresh powder. Skiing isn't just important, skiing is life.
These past few days have been heaven, for locals and out-of-towners alike, as we got about two feet of fresh powder spread out over a few days. It was a skiers paradise, except for the lift lines. The trails were good, the moguls were soft, and the woods were finally, finally, safe to navigate. Slide brook was yours for the taking and not too many people got lost on three sisters. Huzzah!
I'm sorry, that was super lame. These past few days have been wonderful, because I've been able to repeatedly say, "Screw training, lets go get some freaking powder!" and have my friends agree with me and go ruin our already banged up twin tips on lower FIS. I've done nothing but bomb down runs and navigate my way around trees and over several cliffs and race my way down bumps. Its been the best. Their isn't another way to describe being able to live in a place where one of the most important, one of the most demanding and addictive things in your life is easily accessible. Great doesn't even begin to describe it.
Skiing has been a part of my life since I was a year and a half or so old. I learned to ski the bumps and I learned to ski the groomers and I learned to bushwhack to get to the best woods and everything in between. And although I grew up slowly but surely destroying my knees and frost-biting my toes, I grew up loving it, I grew up addicted to getting in just one more run. Now, I feel like skiing is ingrained in my bones, like it has always been there since my creation.
Now that I think about it, it probably has.
There are a lot of things in my life that are up in the air right now, but skiing is not one of them. And even on those days when I want to scream and beat Dani, Chris, Toby, Traudl and Nate in succession, and smash every piece of skiing paraphernalia I have into a million tiny pieces, I know that I will get up the next day, put on my gear, and try to make it a better day.
I have never been the best at ski racing, or even skiing for that matter. Sure, I got some medals when I was little, but everybody got medals then. Sure, I've done well at some races and done shitty at other. I've never been the best though. I've never really been the best at anything. But I'm glad that my parents forced me to go out and get any runs I could at any time, because it taught me to love. Because sure, I will never be, or have been the best. But I am more than okay with that because the love I have for this sport goes beyond doing well. The love I have for this sport goes beyond even the damn sport itself. It sinks deep into my bones, it gets into my blood stream and my lungs and my brain and the chambers in my heart. It is there, and it has always been there. Who could complain about not winning when they love something so much? The only point I'm trying to make is that I'm happy I love something enough to not care whether or not I'm good at it. The only thing that matters is just getting one more run in, just one more run in.
There are about fifty million ways to get to the mountain, about fifty million roads and shortcuts that lead to the promised land, that lead to the snow and the bumps and the woods and the cliffs and the candy and fries.
And sometimes, the only thing to do, the only thing you can do, is follow them.
"So long I'm going, going home."
Congratulations to Karen, my best friends mother, and the entire family, for kicking cancers ass. I love you guys and couldn't be happier that you've gotten over the mountain. Much love.
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