I loved skiing all through high school, I became a much better skier as an instructor than I did as a student. I spent every single weekend up on the hill with my friends, both at work and at play. By the time I left for college skiing was almost like walking. My cousin once went skiing with me and he said that it was the only time he'd ever seen me be graceful. It made sense and was a part of who I was. Then I went to college and didn't get out on the hill too much due to time away from home and there being nobody to go with. After college I lived in West Africa for two years. Not too much skiing there.
Yesterday I wanted to use my seasons pass. I took my day off and decided to get my ski legs back. I was a little apprehensive, I knew how good I had been, there hadn't been a trial on the mountain I couldn't ski. I knew the theory behind it, but I was worried that my body wouldn't respond how I wanted. That I'd end up on the side of some trail wrapped around a tree because I'd crossed the tips of my skis while doing a snow plow. As I walked to the trail, my feet getting used to my boots, I looked at the magic carpet, which is basically a conveyor belt built for the truly novice skiers. I really did consider starting there. 6 years is a long time to go without doing something. I was glad I was alone and not with my old friends that I used to woods ski on a daily basis with. They would have been waiting for me to catch up at the bottom of every trail.
My plan was if I put on my skis and they felt right I would skip the magic carpet and go straight to the lift. I dug my poles into the snow and put my skis down, I popped my boots into my bindings. I took my poles in my hands and they did feel right more so than I had hoped for, I skated up to the lift, and got in line. The first person I road the lift with, was a ski instructor at the same place I had once been. He was out with a couple of 5 year olds. I talked to him and the child and remembered how fun it had been as a instructor, the kids were never the reason why I left. I paced myself, I got off the lift, and actually did exactly what I meant to. I pulled off to the side and put my goggles down, which equally felt right. I then skied down to the end of the base, and thought I'd challenge what my perceptions of my own abilities. I took the chair to the top of the mountain, knowing there were no novice trials all the way down (they just weren't open yet). Anyone who skis Okemo knows that it's an easier mountain. When people ask if you went 'all the way to the top' they think that that's where the nastiest hardest trails are, that you are an expert skier to go all the way up there. No so with Okemo, you can with all trails open ski from top to bottom on extremely easy trails. If you find one that's too hard, you can easily find a connector trail to another easier level. The first trail I skied down it had just been opened that day. I was probably the first to ski it. It was great, the conditions were amazing and my skis were freshly waxed and sharpened. I can't really explain how skiing makes me feel. It makes me feel good. The only way I can describe skiing is freedom. I felt free, and unhinged. Everything gets quiet, and it's a form of meditation. There is no thinking, only reacting. You see something and react to it. There is no thinking 'I need to slow down, I need to turn around this ice chuck or I should go straight'. Skiing was like walking. When I got down off the mountain I felt like I did after any day of skiing, good.
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