Aspen Princess: Strolling through life on the Rio Grande Trail | AspenTimes.com

Aspen Princess: Strolling through life on the Rio Grande Trail

Ali Margo
Aspen Princess

So while you guys were out partying at Highlands closing day, dancing around in your retro ski gear to come cool beats from Naka G, I was at Wal-Mart shopping for diapers and formula only to find out it’s not any cheaper than it is at City Market.

I’ll admit I was a little jealous when Amanda posted photos from the top of Highland Bowl, where it was a gorgeous, sunny day above a cloud inversion in the valley, which doesn’t happen a lot here. I’ve seen it in Whistler, B.C., where it can be pouring rain in town and then gorgeous and sunny up on the glacier, but that’s with over 6,000 feet of vertical. It’s not supposed to rain in the Rockies until summer, hello! Remember, the whole high elevation thing?

The good news is it wasn’t raining at 12,000 feet, and from all the photos people posted on Facebook gloating about what an amazing time they had — to make sure they rub it in your face that their life is better than yours — it looked like a fun time was had by all. Like an old boss of mine used to say with a large degree of sarcasm, “Gooood for youuuuu.”

I could say “been there, done that,” even though it’s true I don’t have one of those cool Cloud 9 baseball hats. It’s hard to believe the season is pretty much over since mine only just started March 1, the day I was set free to go back to regular activity after my c-section. It pains me to say I’ve only hiked the bowl once this year, but I guess I should consider myself lucky I got to do it at all. I would like to go to the real closing day and get one more lap in May 1, just because it would be cool and novel to be able to say so. And yes, I will post it on Facebook just so you don’t miss how way happy and cool I am.

In other news, I have taken to becoming a real suburban housewife and mother, with daily trips to Whole Foods, elaborate dinner-menu planning and lots and lots of laundry (I even got to the point where I actually fold the clothes and put them away rather than letting them pile up in the laundry room where I end up just wearing them again). The best is when I go jogging with the baby and the pug in the chariot on the Rio Grande Trail in a very matchy-matchy and brightly colored fitness outfit. I bought this very bright coral windbreaker at Lululemon and it cost a fortune, but I have to admit it is beautifully tailored and has a real fashion flair to it even while being totally functional. The scary part is I have Hoka-One-One running shoes with coral-colored laces and a pair of Onzie crops I just got from Vimana Yoga that have coral accents on them. So I’m pretty much looking like an updated version of the Desperate Housewife in her Juicy Couture sweats.

The only thing missing are my beloved gold-rimmed aviator sunnies that I lost during said shopping trip to Lulu when I for sure must have left them in the dressing room when I was trying stuff on. They are the ChromoPops from Smith and they cost me a small fortune and were the best lenses I have ever owned, but I simply can’t afford to replace them. I went to D&E on Saturday and got a trendy pair of Smiths that are half white and half tortoise shell, and I’m pretty sure they’re cool, but I’m not sure. They’re more snowboarder chic than fit mom, but whatever. I can play on both sides of that fence.

So Gertie the pug is just not built to be a runner. I tried, thinking it might be good for her to slim down a bit (she’s pushing a size 10) but after the first 500 yards she was snorting and wheezing so loud she almost woke the baby up and she was panting so hard her tongue was practically dragging on the ground. So I just threw her in the front of the chariot, which is like her new favorite thing in the whole world. She hangs one paw over the side and rides shotgun with this expression of entitlement on her face as if we bought the stroller for her and the baby gets to ride along just because.

Whenever we pass people they go nuts over the dog and don’t say jack about the baby. “Oh my god, that is the cutest thing I have ever seen,” they squeal, pointing and giggling. And just so I don’t misunderstand, they always preface that with, “Look at the dog! Oh my god that is the cutest pug ever! How old?”

Granted my hormones are probably not quite back to normal as I’m just barely three months postpartum, but it takes all the restraint I have not to slam on the brakes and chase after the people after they pass by and full body tackle them to the pavement as I scream: “What about my baby, huh? I didn’t have to be sawed in half to give birth to the pug, I only had to drive nine hours to Kansas! And even though it stunk like dead cow, it was nothing compared to 22 hours of labor followed by surgery! And in case you haven’t noticed, I happen to have the cutest baby in the entire world, like Gerber will be calling us any second!”

But then again, that might make me look a little crazy.

So I just jog by and don’t say anything. Come to think of it, the real reason I should be offended is because they didn’t comment on my cool outfit.

The Aspen Princess is going a little stir-crazy. Email your love to alisonmargo@gmail.com.


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