It dawned on me the other day that I’m in my 12th ski season. Not exactly column worthy, but if someone told me at 22 that I’d still be here 12 years later I might not have believed them. What I would’ve been shocked to hear was that I would be born again. A born-again ski bum that is.
I have been singing a different tune lately. I now ski often. I’ve downloaded SkiCo’s Live Pass app to track my days and vertical feet and see how much snow we have or don’t. I’ve even discovered yoga for skiers on top of Ajax. It’s this amazing and free (with your lift ticket) class at the Sundeck that has given me some of the best starts to my day, ever.
It feels like the first time. It feels like the very first time. And maybe it is. You see, when I moved here I had a 9-to-5 job which, might I add, did not observe the 6-inch rule or even the 12-inch rule. I had a two-day a week pass, which was better than I had before I moved here so I never put up a fight. And frankly, I had no idea what I was missing.
I learned how to snowboard. Then I learned how to ski. I heartily enjoyed my Saturdays and Sundays and felt only a mild twinge the year all powder days fell on a Monday. I believe it was 2004, but hey, it’s not like I kept track. I had no frame of reference for powder days or for skiing more than twice a week.
My then-boyfriend would say, “You should upgrade to a full pass.” I’d never thought of it before. I was so strictly dialed into my work schedule with lunch from 12-1 that the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. So, I started lunch skiing for an hour or two a week and I would head back to my desk rejuvenated, blissed out, a little stinky and generally more productive.
I’d stay as long as necessary into the evening to catch up on work, if I was lucky enough to get the Vitamin D fix. Who wouldn’t?
So here I am in my 12th season with a new set of work hours and I might as well be going door to door spreading the gospel.
Praise the Lord because I have found Ski-sus!
I get it. I’m not a ski bum in the true sense of the word. But, I have seen the light and finally understand why someone might live in a van and eat oyster crackers in order to ski all the time. So although I claim born-again ski bum status, I am still mainstreaming because I like certain amenities.
Can you imagine what I would’ve done if I’d found Ski-sus on a year with amazing snow? It’s remarkable to think that my salvation has come despite a 20-inch base and assorted exposed rocks. SkiCo should use me to sell lift tickets.
Ski-sus saved me. Now I’m born again and have a close personal relationship with the mother ship, Ajax. If this is my only season to feel that way then I’m glad I finally got here. Better late than never, right?
I have found the need for yellow lenses, a new helmet and different skis. Finding Ski-sus has a price. It’s all worth it in the end though. We all must give to the donation plate in the name of daily smiles, yoga for skiers, rope drops and early-morning corduroy.
Good God who am I?
I guess I’m just a hopeless born again that’s what.
Ski-sus even helped me to rekindle an old friendship. I found her green jacket and crazy striped pants on a low-visibility day and the rest is history. I’ve yet to see her outside of that uniform, but that matters not. I’ve got a friend in Ski-sus, who has even inspired impromptu lyric-composing sessions:
Long gone are the days of staring out the window too hungover to ski or too enslaved to care.
Now I dig long underwear!
Give me my base layer and I’ll head up the bucket,
Long enough to tell ‘ol conformity to f#!* it.
I’ve found my new groove and I’m quite pleased to say,
You’ll keep me happy and longer if you just let me play!
It only took 12 years to figure that one out.
So what’s next you ask? Well, I foresee a ski ambassadorship in my future and perhaps pro deals of my own. Who knows. The sky is the limit or at the very least the Sundeck.
Beth would like to thank all employers who are able to give their employees the benefit of a ski pass. That’s what this town is all about. She can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.