I am not super happy in my current work, but perhaps I should be. I feel the need to qualify my gratefulness to be employed before I can explain that the company ski day this last Friday has been a beacon of hope for the past few months in getting through a week. See? A company ski day and general dissatisfaction with one's employment seem almost oxymoronic. Maybe I will discuss that on another post someday.
This weekend, however, I had to watch my fellow coworkers take-off up Chet's Dream while I sat out, still swimming from my concussion last Saturday. It was a beautiful day, snow conditions notwithstanding, and I AM grateful to have been sitting out on the terrace watching skiers as opposed to working, but it was tough for a number of reasons.
Firstly, I really love skiing. I mean I actually enjoy it. Maybe that sounds absurdly redundant, but I have had a habit with falling in love with the idea of many hobbies. I am so impressionable regarding other's passions, I can sometimes see myself enjoying them similarly and diving in head first (ouch, too soon…) before I have established that the actual bulk of the activity, not just the idea of it, is enjoyable. I love skiing though, at least as much as I enjoy romanticizing it, and that isn't so common for me. Our Friday ski outing would have been my 23rd day of the season, and each one has compounded in excitement on the other. Walking out to the lift line with tennis shoes on to wave everyone off was… tough.
Last weekend, I had my friend Neal in from North Dakota. We had been discussing a ski weekend all year and it finally came to fruition quite suddenly. While Neal is essentially a brand new snowboarder, I was ecstatic to have him out, to have a chance to share my weekend routine with him. Neal also shares my discomfort for spending any significant time in the truly beginner phase of anything, so I knew we were going to have a fun day and we could both work at our respective levels while enjoying each other's company. We also had the full tailgate experience on deck, with our pour-overs ready for the 7 AM arrival I always insist on, and authentic Bavarian brats for the parking lot grilling session we planned for lunch. It started so well too! If believable, it was on track to exceed my expectations for a great day. Neal rode the bunny hill on chair 2 only twice before telling me he was ready to ski something more challenging. I took him up on Ptarmigan and he shot down Bennet's Bowl with essentially zero hesitation. I have a few short clips of him connecting turns, correcting any stops with an ollie, and just utterly skipping the leaf phase I had expected at least the morning to include. As we made it back onto the groomers, I hit a small jump between the trees on the way back to the lift an thought to myself "That would be fun at a decent speed!". We went up and skied Bennet's again, and our energy was surging: for the bluebird day, for Neal's first few runs, four our general gratefulness to have the means, health, and will to enjoy an adventure so simple as this. In any event, that elation had me send that tree jump perhaps a bit too hard. I remember the take off, and I remember thinking "This is bigger than I had intended". Unfortunately, I would never in my consciousness realize the landing. I was knocked out in a collision from uphill and cannot speak accurately to the following few hours. I do know that I was pleasant with the patrol team, and I had a great conversation with Alex, err… Michael (maybe it was Jennifer?) on the way to St. Anthony's by ambulance.
Fortunately, the majority of my mental faculties resumed normal function within a few hours. The pain lasted a few days, and barring a bit of lingering whiplash, I feel pretty good as I write this! I am aware, however, that my brain metabolism has not fully recovered, and I (with much pressuring from family and friends) decided to take this weekend off. This was the correct choice, and to ski with my company on Friday would have been explicitly motivated by ego. I had a legitimate accident. It could have been much worse, but "it still wasn’t nothin" to quote my dad. I am confident I will have another great ski day with brats and beers (and Neal), and another bluebird day with coworkers perhaps as well. I don’t know what it will feel like to click in again either next weekend or the following. I have worked really hard to overcome fear and anxiety in my life in general, and despite what my friend's think, my approach to "sending" anything is a deeply personal and thoughtful experience. I don’t know if I will be able to hit that jump again the next time I go out, but maybe I have also gained something at the cost of a bit more hesitance. Maybe there is a certain amount of respect that I have been negligent of. I know I will feel that elated energy on the lift up with friends again soon, but maybe I will keep the big ones off the groomers!
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