Mother Nature smiled upon me and delivered a fresh foot of snow for my first day on the slopes.
But first, there was the matter of getting fitted with new boots. My old ones were, well ... old. Very old. With (at best) a handful of days per season, I don't wear them out. The master fitter at
The Sport Loft joked that the new pair would need to last 20 years, as well.
There's nothing like that new-ski-boot feeling, crushing the bones in your foot and leaving you to wonder if you will, in fact, be able to pull the thing off.
No worries. The master knows his trade. K2's
Spyre 110 was the boot for me. Low-volume edition.
New boots. New skis. First day on skis in four years.
What could possibly go wrong?
I gently glided downhill to the chairlift. [Whew.] Would I remember how to do this? [Yes.]
I've spent so much time with ski instructors that it seems they are always with me. If only my performance would measure up to their expert coaching! But no matter, I made it downhill. And by the end of the day, I had the confidence to tackle a black diamond trail. (It wasn't pretty, but I got down. Without tumbling.)
Alta is my favorite place to ski. [No snowboarders.] Rock 'n Roll.
Challenger. Rollercoaster.
Corkscrew. Staring down the steep and narrow
Extrovert, my bravado faded fast. [Repeat after me:
You're a better skier than you think you are.] Definitely outside my comfort zone, and that's important.
“What's the plan today,” I'd ask my friends in the morning. “Ride up. Ski down.” I haven't heard the familiar words in years. All is right with the world.
Uncharacteristically, we even spent a day skiing together (they're much more skilled than I). They led me on a grand tour of
Deer Valley, from Jordanelle to Orion, and back—over and under bridges, past lodges and chalets, and ... wait for it ... no snowboarders!
Sunshine, stillness, snow-covered peaks. Yes, I do remember how, and why, to ski.
Posts
