On the Hill: Smooth sailing
December 11, 2009
ASPEN – Well, so far, so good.
I’m very pleased with how the ski season’s begun, but not because of the recent storm, nor the lack of an injury; what is most pleasing about the ski season thus far is my reduced idiocy.
For instance, I haven’t left my wallet on the rear bumper of a car in the parking lot and then went and skied, not realizing it until I couldn’t pay for lunch (Winter Park; it was still there when I returned).
I haven’t gotten off the bus and started walking with my poles and boots and, of yeah, there go my skis, still on the bus (Paepcke Park; it was the end of the season, and they were such crappy skis I didn’t bother retrieving them).
Nor have I gotten to the top of a lift and realized I was sans ski pants, just sweats (Beaver Creek; a cold traverse to the bottom).
And I haven’t locked into my skis, started for the lift and then wondered why my balance was off (poles left at home; Aspen Highlands).
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I’ve long had a love-hate relationship with the sport. My first turns were at Sunrise in Arizona; I slowly crashed into a lift tower and couldn’t get up, and I sat there, near tears, telling my dad (who had walked up the slope a bit) how much I hated the sport. Ah, irony. Now I’m minutes from one of the world’s premier ski areas and trying to ski as much as my quad muscles and knees will let me.
Earlier this week, a minor detail was neglected. I couldn’t find my gator and thought I could tough it out by fully zipping up my ski coat. Should have known better. After three runs I headed to a ski shop and plunked down $14 for a new gator.
My wallet in my jacket, properly clothed, and ski poles in hand, I headed back up the mountain, wondering what I had forgotten.