Heath Bar Crunch vs. Cherry Garcia
February 16, 2012
The Gift That Keeps on Giving (Silverton Style)
February 23, 2012
The following essay was originally published a month ago when I first established this blog. Unfortunately, I inadvertently deleted it while trying to put a new posting on the blog the following week (I never claimed to be computer savvy). On the other hand, in the immortal words of Homer J. Simpson, “Dooh!!”
Word Count: 865
Numbers And
Other Myths
It never fails. You watch a sporting competition on TV and some athlete makes an amazing play. Following the aftermath of their performance, the interviewer asks them how they can accomplish such a fantastic feat at such an advanced age. The athlete puts on a credible display of modesty and tells the interviewer that age is just a state of mind.
This myth of age being a number is just that. A legendary narrative of the grosses sort. Analogous to fairy tales dealing with unicorns, the Loch Ness monster, or Big Foot.
The classic example of this happened two weeks ago when I chose to do a day of boot packing at the local extreme ski are. With the intention to earn a day of free unguided skiing and saving myself $50.00. Busting your ass while wading through waist deep snow? Other than salivating profusely while looking at an untracked expanse of powder that you and others have to walk instead of ski through, this sounds like a pretty good deal. Almost too good to be true. “Almost” being the key word in this situation.
The classic example of this happened two weeks ago when I chose to do a day of boot packing at the local extreme ski are. With the intention to earn a day of free unguided skiing and saving myself $50.00. Busting your ass while wading through waist deep snow? Other than salivating profusely while looking at an untracked expanse of powder that you and others have to walk instead of ski through, this sounds like a pretty good deal. Almost too good to be true. “Almost” being the key word in this situation.
Up until this past week I actually contemplated doing all four days of the area’s boot packing sessions and earning myself multiple passes. Well as we all know, no one is immune to not having age lurk over their shoulder. My first day of boot packing, this became highly evident.
The day started out tediously. Driving up to the ski area, then preparing for a days worth of slouching through snow fell into place nicely. I’d diligently prepared in advance with all my equipment and arrived early. That’s when the age thing started slowly creeping up on me.
I walked over to the chairlift and without thinking
locked myself into my skis and slid over to get on. Maybe it was a sudden gust of wind that kicked up right as the chairlift operator said it. Maybe he seemed to be mumbling as he blurted it out. More than likely it was a person’s hearing skills deteriorating as age advances? Whatever it was, the guy said they weren’t loading passengers yet and I didn’t catch all of what he yelled at me. Not until after he’d repeated it three times.
Next I sauntered up to the canvas lodge, filled out an indemnity waver and took a pull of water. Suddenly I realized I’d forgotten to bring a roll of duct tape to cover the bottom of my ski pants. How could I have done this? What was I thinking when I forgot to stick the roll in my car? Maybe I wasn’t thinking? Is it possible that older people tend to forget things on a regular basis? Nah couldn’t be. On second thought, maybe it could?
Luckily someone in our group had extra and I wrapped myself up and jumped on the chairlift. Our first pass down the mountain went pretty well. The sun peeked out as we started walking down the ridge, and we jumped on the chairlift and rode to the top for a second trudge.
That’s when things went from the frying pan straight into the heart of the fire. We skied down to a patch of trees and our guide gave the assembled masses a few instructions. The last (and for me), most important thing she said was if any of us got lost, to go skier’s right as you make your way down the mountain.
Naturally I ended up lagging behind the rest of our group and sooner, (as opposed to later) I found myself lost skiing through a dense strand of trees. After stumbling and bumbling my way down, I linked up with the rest of our party. Disappointed with myself, and my pride having taken another substantial hit.
That’s when we stepped on the bus taking us back to the base area and I said hello to a good friend of mine driving the vehicle. His exact words, (and I quote rather loosely) as I stumbled onto the bus:
“Hurry up old man.”
To which I replied (under my breath of course):
“I’m moving as fast as I can. Walking up these steps in Telemark Ski boots isn’t so easy damm it.”
I could’ve used the excuse that the floor of the bus was very slippery, but I won’t. My ego had taken another blow and instead I walked to the back of the bus and looked at all the other tired faces.
The only thought that went through my mind? Gosh, every one of these people is probably half my age. A comforting contemplation I guess.
The rest of the day was uneventful except feeling like I’d just completed an ultra-marathon with my rusted roller skates on.
You’ll be happy to know I’ve discovered an innovative way to deny this aging thing. Whenever someone asks me how old I am, I always use the same reply:
“I’m 85 years old. Look pretty good for a guy who’s that ancient don’t I?”
Other than the trials and tribulation of that day, the author loves everything about Silverton Mountain. He proudly calls it the Ultimate Anti-Resort.
