I took a ski day today. An unremarkable event in a state full of skiers, but do realize that skiing is not my sport. I make my way down blue runs with the same level of confidence that a worm brings to a fishing contest. I envision blown ACLs, with skis and poles scattering behind me as a summer full of summits escapes me. I generally question the why, a cost/benefit analysis of time and/or money spent to the relative reward. It is a fruitless calculation though, as rare is the day, ensconced in the clarity of rarefied air, that I simply do not appreciate my position.
My standing about alpine terrain, today with the grandeur of the Fraser Valley spilling before me, that I once again realized, a lesson that is learnt anew with every break from the mountains, that it is not necessarily the sport, but the position and the people. To be with people I care about amidst that dramatic topography of the state I call home, is a reminder of what is important to me. Whether it is flailing on skis or moving fast and light on a summer’s morning, sharing the crystalline air and the frost-nipped mornings of the high country with friends and loved ones is always special. A schoolboy giddiness pervades as I down coffee, eager to hold onto to the excitement that grips me. And today, like nearly all days on the high, combined camaraderie and fear, and as always, relationships deepened amidst the laughter, nervous and otherwise, as vertical feet were gained and lost in a wash of sun dappled snow.
