Humbling

"I'm the best skier on the mountain.” A quote from the classic, hilarious, ski film, G.N.A.R. Meant to be a silly “callout” on the mountain more than anything else, this quote came to mind after an amazing day skiing at Mad River Glen this past Saturday.

We got to the mountain at 10:00. It was just my pops and I, however we were meeting a good friend and his dad there as well. As we got to the mountain and slowly looked up and down at the spectacle before us we came to the quick realization that today was going to be a day to remember. For my dad, that realization seemed to hold true throughout the day, but for me, something quite different arose.

I rode the single chair for the first time that day. My dad wanted to hit the groomers for a little while longer to get his legs underneath him. I was ready, I had six days of skiing under me. That was enough right? 

Just me, dangling hundreds of feet above a mountain, giving me time to think about the runs that await. I wasn't sure what to prepare myself for. I, being a good skier, was confident in my ability to ski anything the single chair could lead me towards. I saw my friend in the chair in front of me bobbing his head to the music blaring in his headphones, getting pumped up. I imagined his dad in the chair behind us just contemplating his descent down the powdery, white snow beneath us. The ride up the chair was beautiful. Immensely beautiful. It complimented the following events quite perfectly. 

I was in the back of the pack, following my friend, his dad, and one other skier. Following them to the spot where we would make our descent. “Holy fuck,” I thought to myself as I saw what we were about to go down. The gnarliest “trail” I have ever stood atop. There were trees everywhere I looked, light cover beneath me, and an unbelievably large pit in my stomach. Immediately they got to it, making quick work of the first part of the trail. And then there was me, struggling to make it down to where they stopped to wait. “I’m just getting warmed up,” I thought. Got to keep pushing, but I will save you the embarrassing and boring details. I did eventually make it down to a waiting group of skiers. I said I was sorry for holding them up, and they didn't seem to mind in the slightest. Wow. 

                                        

The realization I came to this past Saturday was that I’m most definitely not the best skier on the mountain. I have to say, it feels good. I was humbled that day, and I needed it. I have so much to learn, and I can’t wait.

Keep Shreddin', 

~Ryan 

Black and Blue

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

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