The Ski Journal • Volume 17, Issue 3 • SKI LOVES ME, SKI LOVES ME NOT

“You’re smothering me, I just can’t do this anymore.” Street-side seasonal sport disorder in Crested Butte, CO. Photo: Andrew Marshall

Everything changed when I moved to California to be with you. Sure, I messed around at the local hill when I was younger, but this was different. This was serious. I’d be spending the whole winter with you and the possibilities were exhilarating. I was nervous, a little scared, but I was ready.

Our first winter together was life-changing. You challenged me, took me to new heights, shifted my world perspective and showed me the importance of community. You taught me to stick to my pole plant, to ski the steeps and navigate bumps in the road. You introduced me to powder. You were easy-going, but also dangerous. You knocked me down but were always there, ready with another chairlift ride and a teachable moment.

One winter became two. Two soon became four. Every spring we took a break, but when temperatures started falling, we’d meet up and drop right back into our rhythm as if no time had passed. During the colder months, I was with you every day; at work, on my days off, you were there. My friends couldn’t stop talking about you, it seemed the whole town was obsessed with you. I can see why. I know I’m lucky to have met you, which makes this so difficult.

Skiing, I’m breaking up with you. I’m selling my gear—our gear—and leaving town. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do this anymore.

I’m burnt out. I hurt. My legs…hurt. Lately, we’ve been going in circles, merely going through the motions. The spark isn’t there anymore. When we’re in town together, sure, it’s great, but then you leave for New Zealand, Argentina or Chile, while I’m left awaiting your return. I was hurt that you never asked me to go with you, but would I have gone?

Outside of our love affair I explored, I experimented. I chased other seasons and other activities that fulfill me in a way you never could. Warm weather and activities that can be enjoyed year-round. I returned to childhood flings: soccer, mountain biking and backpacking—things I can’t do with you.

Some days I saw everything so clearly, while others you left me whited out in confusion, in a ping-pong ball of dizzying vertigo. I bought all the necessary gear and name brands (even that long underwear you like), but the material investment created a wall between us. I lost the hair on the back of my calves and pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I did all of this for you, but it still never felt like enough.

I want to do a long-distance hike. I want to travel abroad and pursue an endless summer. I want to wander without the expectation of return. I need time to rediscover the real me.

You will always have a place in my heart, skiing. I wish you the best and hope we can remain close, or maybe even friends on a powder day. At the very least, I know where to find you.

The Ski Journal - Volume 17, Issue 3

SKI LOVES ME, SKI LOVES ME NOT

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