Sunshine and blue skies not only made for spring skiing conditions at Arapahoe Basin this weekend but also fueled the spark that rekindled an old flame. So, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, I’ll share this little love story with you.
Photo by Jennifer Olson
I felt it while loading my skis in the car yesterday morning. That giddy eagerness a person experiences when she senses something good is about to happen stirred my heart and energized my blood. I was wearing a T-shirt and no jacket, humming to bluegrass, and thinking it could be a good day to soak up some sun at the lake. I definitely would have been happy catching rays in town but carried out my ski plans and headed for A-Basin with friends.
A late start got us to the mountain by 10:30, but that was fine since the newest snow there fell last Monday and we planned to ski until the last lift closed anyway. We headed straight for the top of the resort and skied down the backside of Lenawee Mountain, flying down groomers and weaving in a few tree runs. We caught the Zuma lift up a couple times then spent the rest of the day on the front of the mountain—following Cornice Run across the mountain then dropping into the basin at West Wall and cruising the terrain park before riding to the top again. But even before noon, I realized I was in love.
I was sitting on the lift between my two guy friends and admiring the scenery while literally sunning myself in the warm light. They were talking over my head, but I heard nothing until one of them started giggling and mimicking a sigh—my contented exhale that apparently didn’t quite match the tone of their conversation. Their jokes barely fazed me though. The fire had been stoked, and I was rediscovering a forgotten crush.
I first fell in love with skiing on the sunny New Mexico slopes, where I enjoyed time with the people I loved (my family then) and delighted in the great outdoors. Of course I’ve skied many times since then, and I’ve enjoyed a few sunny days of carving too. But, yesterday is when I really remembered the joy of it. I felt at-ease and capable on my skis—thanks to my days on the mountain so far this winter—but also comfortable with my friends and generally happy.
I don’t always love skiing, because conditions aren’t always so pleasant. But the only sour moment of the day was the 15 minutes I wasted waiting for my friends at our favorite lift when they were actually repeating jumps in the terrain park. I missed out on a run or two then but worked in several good ones after that, which faded my annoyance a little. Back in town, we enjoyed an après ski meal at a Thai café and read our fortune cookie destinies out loud after dinner. “There are many bright days ahead,” mine said. I sure hope so, because I wouldn’t mind a few more days like yesterday.
While I know this love won’t work out (owing to the fickle nature of spring ski conditions), skiing is at least an affair worth the risk of devoting myself to something so inconstant, something that won’t always return the love. I’m glad I spent my Sunday at the beach—I mean, on the ski slopes.
