The joy of skiing.
Sometimes I shock even myself with how much I love skiing. It’s honestly such a pain: layers and special socks and what boots to wear pre- and post- ski boots and layers after ski and how to keep your hair from freezing and hauling all the gear and stuffing your pockets with snacks and where does the lift card go where you won’t have to take it out every time … but when you click into your skis that you love (only your third pair ever!) and whoosh over the snow to the lift, everything it took to get there is instantly forgotten. As the mountain air on the lift—which is somehow different from the mountain air even at the base of the mountain—smashes into your face with cold and excitement, there is no morning or driving or getting out of breath just walking to the base, there is only SKIING. There is only mountains and snow and gorgeous skies and the feeling of freedom gliding down the mountain on pure white snow. There’s nothing else to do or think, only to breathe and enjoy.
I didn’t know I would become this person, who would feel this way, and sometimes it’s hard to articulate just what it means to me to have become a skier. It’s the biggest surprise of my life, and the thing I am most grateful to have learned to love. It’s a common thread, a connection point, a love for the outdoors, a zest for life. Skiing is a joy.
And I am so grateful to be here, in Colorado, doing that thing for the next couple weeks with friends and families and new skiers and old.
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