A long way down...
'Kay. So the story starts like this. I used to ski. Like, 28 years ago, to be exact and to be brave, because that gives you some indication that I'm not some young chick. (Well, I am, but just at heart.)
Anywho, I used to ski moguls. To be brave. Because they were hard and scary. I'd read a book, "Inner Skiing," that talked about finding the rhythm, quieting your mind, and just absorbing the ground with your knees. I still remember that book and the lessons. Life is like that, so much easier to navigate when you find the rhythm, and absorb what is pushed up at you.
So all week, I was so tempted by the moguls. In my age and wisdom, I decided it would be best to wait until the end of the week. Just in case, you know, if I got hurt. Wouldn't ruin the whole vacation.
So, on this last day, on the chair, we spied a wide path through the woods. Looked like fun. Ron suggested I try it, and I said, "Nahhhh... don't know what's over there..." He said he would like to try it, but as a boarder, wanted to be sure there was some pitch to the slope. Or he'd be walking.
So I took it. By myself. And I broke through the line of trees, and guess what I saw? A black diamond sea of moguls. Yup, a whole hill of 'em. And there I was, all by myself, in the middle of the woods.
I pulled up my big-girl snow pants, took a deep breath, and skied those moguls. During the week, we had noted those who "took" the moguls... you know, they made it down, but it wasn't like they were skiing/boarding them. And then there were those who actually skied them. Truthfully, I probably "took" them the first few yards down, but then-I found the rhythm. And it felt so good.
This photo was taken from one of the highest points I reached. That hot red sign tells you how NOT responsible anyone is if you choose to ski that path. It tells you that it is ungroomed, which means that you can and probably will encounter rocks, trees, cliffs, whatever Mother Nature decided to leave there. And, no... not THAT brave. But I did want to go to the top, which usually means some pretty hairy skiing down. I'm afraid, and because of that, I want to tackle it. I'm afraid of that old woman who quickly becomes inactive because of Fear. So now, while I'm still this young, I want to beat Fear at her own game. So I went as high as I could, and it was no sweat getting down. So take that, Fear.
And these two? 6 and 10. They didn't "take" moguls; they skied them. And they didn't even know it. They were probably wondering what was up with all those bumps? They skied greens, blues and blacks. Fear doesn't exist in their lives. That sometimes scares me.
It was a wonderful vacation. Thanks, daddy-o, for spoiling us. And for giving us time together.
... On a jEt plane.
Tomorrow: my favorite action shots, and maybe a video of me doing tricks, if I can figure out that paste & link thing.