He skis right behind you. He watches you with the utmost intent. He doesn't say anything, just spectates and makes sure you're paying attention. He's like the cold air coming through a cracked window and into a warm room.
Being able to look him in the eyes and overcome him is something I beg for. His name is injury.
Pain is defined as "An unpleasant feeling occurring as a result of injury or disease, usually localized in some part of the body." That's utter bullshit. Pain can't be dumbed down like that, it's meant to be respected, and trust me, I do.
As I sit here in the lodge and feel the excruciating throbbing creep up my spine, originating from a softball sized bump towards the bottom of my back, I think about what it would be like if things like this didn't happen...
I didn't meet any amazing new people today; I met excruciating pain. I didn't listen to any stories, but my own screams as I lay on top of the cement like snow in agony. I'm okay now, yeah, sitting in the lodge, writing to help distract myself.
I like to live my life taking good from bad. So, while I sit here with what is now the third makeshift ice-pack slowly dripping down my back I contemplate how us skiers and boarders can triumph over injury or pain.
Fog clouds those answers. I'm not sure. I can distract myself long enough to stop thinking about the pain only to have it come back even stronger, reminding me it's there.
One day, maybe I'll figure it out. How to look pain in the eye and let him know I'm not interested. But, until that day, I can only pray to stay healthy.
~Ryan
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Killington 11/4/14
A sixty-eight year old man sat down next to me on the chairlift today and I'm not quite sure how the conversation started, but after it was over, I was inspired.
Some days I think about how it will turn out. I can never get too far unfortunately, I guess it's some sort of mental block of the future. I like thinking in the present, or at least I think I like it. When I look at my methodology of thinking I guess I see the present as a safety net for how I act. If I live in the present I won't have to worry about the future. And the future scares the shit out of me.
The sixty-eight year old man had told me that he had driven four hours that morning to be the on the first chair that rode up Killington that day. He spoke with the utmost charisma, an attribute that strikes a chord deep within me. He had this aura about him that made my eyes light up, and allowed me to truly feel what he was saying. He explained that he doesn't care how old he is, but if his legs work, he would be on the mountain. He explained to me that he had given away his right to vote that day, to come ski. This was no ordinary man, and no ordinary conversation. This man was a man that stood for so much more. He stood for passion, dedication, and inspiration. His gray, stringy hair, the wrinkles that lined his face, and the smile that stood in the middle of it, helped me see my future.
This man was how I saw myself in fifty years. He inspired me. He spoke for the mountains, and he spoke to me.
~Ryan
Some days I think about how it will turn out. I can never get too far unfortunately, I guess it's some sort of mental block of the future. I like thinking in the present, or at least I think I like it. When I look at my methodology of thinking I guess I see the present as a safety net for how I act. If I live in the present I won't have to worry about the future. And the future scares the shit out of me.
The sixty-eight year old man had told me that he had driven four hours that morning to be the on the first chair that rode up Killington that day. He spoke with the utmost charisma, an attribute that strikes a chord deep within me. He had this aura about him that made my eyes light up, and allowed me to truly feel what he was saying. He explained that he doesn't care how old he is, but if his legs work, he would be on the mountain. He explained to me that he had given away his right to vote that day, to come ski. This was no ordinary man, and no ordinary conversation. This man was a man that stood for so much more. He stood for passion, dedication, and inspiration. His gray, stringy hair, the wrinkles that lined his face, and the smile that stood in the middle of it, helped me see my future.
This man was how I saw myself in fifty years. He inspired me. He spoke for the mountains, and he spoke to me.
~Ryan
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