8,409,600 Minutes

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Since moving to Jackson I have skied almost a dozen times. That is quite a bit considering that, prior to December, the last time I found myself enjoying the thrills of speeding down a hill on two planks of wood and carbon fiber was approximately 8.5 million minutes earlier in my lifetime. To put that in perspective, let me be an accountant for a moment and break it down for you. That's 140,160 hours, 5,840 days or 16 long years - more than half my lifetime. It amazes me to think that the beginning of my hiatus came following a ski trip during winter break of eighth grade, most likely December 1993 or January 1994, at 14 years old. I don't have any specific memories of that day but I do know I went to Wachusett Mountain with a friend and his parents. As a side note the Wachusett theme song (Waaaa, Wa-Wa-Wa-chusett, mountain ski, minutes awaaaay!!), which blanketed local radio stations from November to April each year, will remain embedded somewhere in my memory forever.

I cannot say precisely why it took so long for me to return to a sport that I genuinely enjoyed growing up. There were no nasty spills I can recall to turn me away from something so enjoyable. Admittedly I skied with reckless abandon in my younger days - my motto could have been "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line." The only deviation from that straight line would have been to hit a jump and catch a bit of air.
In retrospect, the start of high school was really the end of my career as a recreational skier. The commitments to school, sports and work took on greater importance and were more time-consuming. It was also about this time that Joseph family vacations became more focused on golf and the beach. This meant Myrtle Beach and Cape Cod year after year. We had a ready made foursome consisting my father, two brothers and myself. My mother could sleep in, have a leisurely breakfast and read on the beach while the boys went out for an early morning tee time. It made sense and, from what I can remember, always turned out to be a great time.

Mid-blog Update: Liz and I just returned from Snow King where we spent about an hour and a half skiing in what I consider the first true snowstorm since our arrival in November. The fifty minutes was spent enjoying our usual trails before we both needed to take a bathroom break. Upon exiting the lodge I noticed that the chairlift to the summit appeared to be open for the first time this year. To this point, due to the lack of snow, only the two lifts climbing about halfway up the mountain had been running. Out came the map, from which I determined that Liz and I could safely ride to the summit and ski down without having to take on any trails beyond our skill level. The trails we'd be skiing for weeks now included black diamonds which are as steep as any I've ever been down. It did not take much more than a show of confidence to get Liz on board so away we went.

About halfway up the lift Liz asked, "do you think any of the trails up here are groomed?" This would prove ominous. Upon exiting the lift we turned left, the only direction allowed and followed the "easiest way down" to the top of the one black diamond we knew we were required to take on. The "easiest way down" is, in fact, the easiest route to the bottom of the mountain. Not the least bit steep and actually kind of fun to just cruise along. From the peak, however, this path was narrower than we were used to and Liz got going faster than she'd anticipated. She stopped by turning sharp right into the side of the hill. Realizing she was no worse for the wear I continued on my way. Everything was dandy until we reach edge of Grizzly, the one black diamond we faced on our way to more familiar paths. It was here that I let doubt get the better of me and could not make a decision about what my next move should be. Indecision resulted in a face plant. A face plant resulted in the inability to get back to my feet without Liz's help. Keep in mind, no real skiing has even taken place yet.

Back on my feet and at the edge of the run, my head swiveled back and forth from peering down the hill to watching other people take the plunge. An opening appeared and I took it. Yup, I took it...an entire five feet before splashing down into three feet of powder. Almost immediately upon returning to my feet and turning back down the hill I was back in the snow. This pattern continued several times before I was finally able to find some stability. To my amazement I'd skied down approximately thirty feet from the top. To be fair, though, my performance would have been characterized as a human avalanche rather than someone skiing. Looking up I saw that Liz, too, had started the journey down. Hers also stopped abruptly, no more than ten feet from the top, where she not only sat deep in the snow but did so without one of her skis. After unsuccessfully struggling to get her ski back on - due to a lack of support beneath her - she finally decided to take the second ski off and throw her gear down to me where I could provide assistance. I fully expected a series of four letters words to fly down the hill along with Liz's skis and poles but, to my amazement, she was smiling and laughing uncontrollably.

Following a couple minutes of struggling to get Liz put back together we commence with amateur hour. Turn, turn, stop, turn, fall, up, turn, turn, fall, up, turn, stop. And so it went for a couple hundred yards. At times I actually felt like I was in control but it never lasted more than a turn or two. It was much the same for Liz who later bragged about putting together three consecutive slaloms without going down. Before too long we reached the familiarity and comfort of a run we knew well. Before this whole fiasco started we had planned to ski down to a chair lift away from where the car was parked for one more run. However, we were both exhausted and time was short so instead we called it a day. As we were stripping ourselves of our snow covered and soaked hats, gloves, and jackets I told Liz that I loved her. First, because that was something I'd known for quite a while but also how could I not after she was such a good sport.

Not long after we turned out of the parking lot Liz called her mother and the first words out of her mouth were, "Mark tried to kill me." With the phone on speaker I explained that this was not attempted murder. On the contrary, the incident in question was very much a murder-suicide. In reality, the only danger Liz and I were in was of spending an hour trying to get off the mountain. Spill after spill into three feet of powdery snow hurt my ego more than any part of my body. I definitely plan to take another run from the top of the mountain but Liz is not quite as gung ho with the debacle so fresh in her memory. Liz tells me she is still sore almost 24 hours later.

What can I say? The mountain wins again...

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Observations from Jackson:

* You are not from Jackson if you don't own a pickup truck, a giant pickup truck or a Subaru Outback. I would love to own a Subaru dealership in Jackson because I'm convinced that at least 75%!o(MISSING)f all Outback sales in the US are made here. Another 10%!o(MISSING)f Outbacks are purchased by my father and his golf buddies but that's another story.

* To reinforce the above observation: I dropped Liz off at the grocery store and told her I would park the car and wait. Naturally, I wanted to find a spot close to the entrance and, in doing so, pulled into a space between a giant pickup and an Outback. Several minutes later my cell phone started ringing - it was Liz, curious where I had run off to. The pickup to my left blocked her view my Civic. Then I looked around and realized "black truck" and "Outback" would provide little or no help in bringing Liz closer to the car. I wonder how often Jacksonians start to get into a vehicle before realizing it's not theirs.

* The snow appears to finally be arriving as we've long anticipated. I was disappointed to have to use the chains on my front tires for the first time in over two weeks. At the same time, it would not be a winter in Jackson without a snow bank several feet high. It's also hard to complain when Liz insists on shoveling the driveway.

* We booked a two-night trip to Yellowstone - hopefully the "Frosty Fun" package lives up to its name!

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Photos

Snow King Trail Map
Not sure if it's readable but Grizzly in the upper left of the map is where Liz and I spent a good part of the morning on Friday.

Snow King
A view up Snow King from Rafferty Chairlift

Elk Refuge
The winding road along the Elk Refuge north of town - my favorite running spot

Liz Shoveling
Liz shoveling the driveway...she really loves it too. No complaints here!

Liz Shoveling Again
This time she's behind the ramp of snow she created. The beauty of the giant push shovel is that you simply create a ramp and push the snow up and over!

Homemade Pizza
Liz and I made our own dough and created this tasty Hawaiian pizza

Comments

[Cassi]

Pizza
Oh, man! That pizza looks fantastic!