Some Post Ski Trip Reflections

If falling means that you’re learning and improving, I’ve become a professional skier over the past week. Seriously, I’ve eaten it so many times that it’s a wonder nothing’s broken (although there’s something funny going on with my ankle). But falling really is how I learn and you know what? I can see my own slight improvements; if it takes a face full of snow to get there, fine. I’ll take it.

Hardcore education

Overall, I’ve pretty much fallen in love with Stowe. It’s probably the largest ski area I’ve ever been to; I mean, how could I not be enamored with its not one but TWO gondolas?! Or is the plural of gondola gondolae? No, I got a red squiggly line under gondolae, so it must be wrong, but I’ll leave it here because we learn from our mistakes right? Right? I digress. Anyway, for the past week, I’ve been blessed with near perfect skiing conditions (I say near because the goddamn snow cannons tend to reduce visibility to approximately nothing). The lodges are beautiful, the lifts are (fairly) quick, and skiing during the week means no lift lines and nearly deserted slopes. The town of Stowe, Vermont is equally perfect. It’s cute, quaint, and all Currier and Ives like. Also, I wouldn’t mind living so close to the Ben and Jerry’s ice cream and Cabot cheese factories. I do love fine dairy products. Stowe (both town and ski resort) gets 1.75 thumbs up from me (if you just tried to do that, you will have realized that it’s a very awkward thumb angle) because it’s awesome. However, a quarter of a point has to be docked because it’s located so damn far both from my home and my school. I can’t day trip it to a resort that’s nearly 4 hours away.

Is this not a perfect snow-globe scene?

Another non-sequitor: I want to say right now that I am BEYOND impressed with the age of some of the skiers I see out on the mountain. I hope that when I’m 70 years old, I’ll be as spry as the fantastically fit grandmothers and grandfathers who play around in the moguls and frequent black diamond slopes when they’re not teaching their grandkids how to ski. I want to be that kind of old person. The kind who lives in the mountains, skis all winter, hikes all summer, and eats trail mix ALL YEAR ROUND. I swear, I’m going to be such a cool old person. I digress again.  I got excited thinking about elder-me.

Omnomnomnom

WANT.

Speaking about the future, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I absolutely MUST take a trip out west to ski America’s real mountains rather than New England’s large hills. I’ve never travelled west of New York before, but now I’m determined to make it out to Colorado for a ski trip. This is my goal for next winter. Anyone want to come with?

I really do love gondolas.