Wed 21 Mar 2012
Alright folks, I have put this one off long enough. I am going to start off by saying that I am one of those girls who is ready to ski in October and ready for something else in March. Not saying that I am totally over skiing, but my brain starts thinking of other things when the tulips start peaking their little green tops out of the wet soil. The last couple of weeks it has been hard for me to get into a “ski” state of mind. It started with Isaac cracking his head open and getting staples which put a damper on things and then that sun, that warm shorts weather sun, came out and decided to blast Utah with some early spring heat. We have totally been duped by winter this year and so instead of embracing the news that a large, wet, pacific storm might actually renew the goods up in the mountains, I sort of brushed it off and put it out of my mind. Besides, it was probably going to rain…right?
Rain, it did not! Saturday at the Tude was slushy and icy, you know, knee ripper stuff and the weather was grey and damp. The DEVO team was sorely lacking in numbers (everyone stayed in bed) and by noon, I was ready to bail and so were the boys. Sunday is an off day for us but I started getting texts that the snow was falling and it was starting to get deep. Hmmm. The sky was overcast as I walked into church but, the temperatures were rather comfortable and I presumed that whatever was coming down up there was going to be cement so, I committed myself to the next three hours with a bit of unenthusiastic determination. Stepping out of the doors, several hours later, I was immediately knocked over by the cold. Temperatures had to have dropped at least twenty degrees and my springy skirt and blouse did nothing to block the icy wind which whipped through my thin clothes. Flakes were swirling and I knew that all the heathens who had turned away from the “light” were turning in some fresh light powder! Dangit, sometimes, Sundays can be a paralyzing moral dilemma when faced with the choice of deep pow or deep piousness. I lived by the rule that the mountains were my church for many years but now, now…well, you know the story. I wonder what the fate is for those who suffer from alpine apostasy?
A roaring fire and some good food helped quell the loss of a great day and I soon realized, as the snow started accumulating outside, that Monday was going to be even better. The weather reports were calling for another foot onto the 12-15 that had already fallen and the Cottonwoods were finally getting their due justice. I walked into my office and looked at my calendar, it was full. My husband was out of town and couldn’t pick up the slack and I knew I was doomed. Why, Why, Why? Was I really going to have to miss the biggest day of the year? It looked that way and I begrudgingly tackled Monday with as much joy as a lifty stuck smacking the chairs with a broom. My friend, Jill freakin Adler, made a point of posting her every turn with the conniving skills of the world’s greatest ski wench while I sat at the elementary school and read with the kids (whom I adore). My phone kept vibrating in my pocket as post after post and picture after picture was popping up from every last ski friend I know. I think I smacked my head against a wall or a desk at least five times in self pity. Jill later said it best, when she called and left a message around 3:00… “Hi, it’s me (super sickly sweet voice), if you didn’t ski today you should HATE yourself…bye” You can insert the B-word here with an exclamation point. I am currently ignoring her phone calls.
Who cares, right? Your probably wondering why I am even writing this, what does this have to do with anything? Who really cares that Rachael didn’t ski, that she wished she had, we know Jill doesn’t. Well, the thing is this. I moped around Tuesday morning, wallowing in misery when I realized that if I didn’t get up there and at least make one turn in the stuff then I really was a loser. How could I even consider myself anything other than a weekend warrior instead of the girl whose life (from Thanksgiving to Easter) depends on the white stuff? I looked outside at the bluebird sky and thought of that fantastic winter wonderland just minutes away and I rallied…I RALLIED! Isaac looked at me and caught that gleam in my eye (five minutes before he was to catch the bus for Kindergarten to be exact) and said “I want to go skiing!” I looked at him and his three friends (who were over for playgroup) and said, “Mommy does too…go get your stuff on, NOW!” Five minutes, that’s all it took, to get his friend’s on the bus, all our gear loaded and out the door to see what was left of the storm’s fury. I couldn’t leave Noah so I snatched him off the playground (with permission of course) and off to Solitude we went.
The canyon road was busy with people heading down and I knew that my timing couldn’t be better. Oddly enough, I love to hit Solitude in the afternoon, after a dump, when the crowds are gone and the mountain is peaceful and quiet. I don’t mind missing out on first tracks because I know that I am still going to get mine. I know this mountain, I know where she hides her best kept secrets. You think I am going to tell you…uh, no. It was better than I could have hoped and I am so glad that I got my sorry self up there! Tuesday may not have been the deepest and softest but it had to have been the most stunning! Jaw dropping beauty greeted us. Snow laden trees glistening in the sun and the silence of the canyon enveloped us in absolute peace and serenity. No one, I mean no one was there. The weekend had taken its toll on the powder junkies and there I was, with my two favorite boys, basking in the glorious sunshine, taking in the gorgeous scenery, laughing with my kids, rolling around with them in deep powder and still making turns in fresh, sparkling snow that had lain untouched (I promise), just waiting for me to cut through it. I know that I missed the chest deep powder that so many of you blew through over the weekend and I am happy for each and every one of you (even you Jill…I really am) who felt the sweet joy of the return of winter. I know that I missed the thigh burning race for fresh tracks and face shots. I know…I know…that I missed the “best” day of the season but it’s fine, I still got mine.