My question is, why the topic of “global warming” when brought up in my classrooms in the ‘80s was swept under the mat by so many people?

Government officials and scientists alike were so quick to debunk the idea. Here I sit, hearing the dire news about the state of the world. Our cultures and livelihoods are at risk, animal and plant life are threatened to the brink of extinction, potable water is scarce in too many countries, ice-caps are receding at breakneck pace and air is pregnant with toxins that travel beyond any boarders that we have created.

Now is the time that my professors were speaking of back then. I am frustrated that my generation is only now seeing action being taken, when it could have been spearheaded so long ago. Because of our fear of thinking outside the box and sheer laziness, our sons and daughters are left with a burden that they don’t deserve to bear.

If more people in high places would grow fed up with the status quo and lay their fears of embracing new ideas to rest, maybe the most annoying buzzword of the moment, “green,” wouldn’t grate on me so much. Because I have hope and I’m fairly optimistic about the condition of being human, I can see the silver lining. I recognize that now is a critical time in our history and that change can be made, but how many people are still on that fence and deferring to tomorrow?

When spring comes along in the Colorado Rockies, it makes me want to play hookie from all the trappings of real life. Fresh powder followed up quickly with bluebird skies and warmer temps draw me away from the office for more fun duties, like loading my truck with snowboard gear, friends and dogs to hit the slopes.

So it was a few days ago, when the reports stated the fresh stuff was taking over the mountains near and dear to me. My friend and I headed to Copper and as soon as the shuttle stopped at the base, we hightailed it to the lift and back bowls. The target was hiking the ridge all the way out Copper Bowl to try to find fresh tracks followed by a cat trip to Tucker Mountain (the best kept secret..well maybe not anymore at the resort).

Luck was with us that day, when 1. no one else was hiking the ridge as far as we had and 2. We caught the last cat up of the day (eliminating the hike to my favorite chute…but for the record I like earning my turns). Fresh tracks greeted my friend and I all day long, pretty impressive for front-country riding.

There is something about yipping down a hill and dodging branches in trees (or getting trapped in a tree well) and seeing the grin from ear to ear on a friend’s face on a powder day that sets all things right again, and I become grateful for the trappings of life.

I felt like a complete moron wearing hard plastic boots and carrying two skis like someone who has never eaten with chopsticks. I peered around and hoped that no one was looking at my personal fiasco in getting across the parking lot. Granted, I grew up skiing and most my life felt confident in and around skis, but today I felt like a newbie all over again.

Six seasons ago I made the switch from two boards to one, and haven’t looked back, until now. I’ve signed up for the four week long Women’s Days program at my local ski resort, Eldora, in the telemark clinic. It is, as the title gives away, a program specifically for women to get instruction in a new sport or hone the ones they already have. It seems like a perfect environment to learn a new sport.

I dumped my equipment at the door to the lodge and headed up to the lounge area where we were told to meet. Apparently, in my late and hasty scramble to get out of the house this morning I not only lost my glove but it cost me a yummy buffet breakfast. Note to self, get up earlier next week. I was quickly greeted by the organizer who asked me some questions about my ability and assessed I would need to be the in red group. I panicked, what does that mean? They had just flagged me as the ultimate beginner. Red, meaning watch out for this one, she’ll be cutting pies across the slopes? Or maybe, red, she is such a beginner that she is a danger to herself? I needed to lower my anxiety level and just go with it. I was introduced to my fellow students and our instructor, Diane and immediately felt a little more at ease. Well except for the fact that I was missing one glove. Diane came to my rescue by grabbing me her extra pair. All this and I hadn’t even been on the snow yet.

On our first chair ride up, I focused on not dropping my poles while also trying to absorb the tips Diane was passing on. Her descriptions of how to use edges and the differences between alpine skiing and telemark made all the sense in the world. She explained techniques for the beginner with such concise detail and patience, I figured I would have no problem putting those theories to practice when we unloaded. Of course my years of skiing would help, right? Hmm. Not so much. Good thing they flagged me as RED.

Getting used to the fact that my heel was not secured in place was one of the more difficult hurdles, not counting trying to ski in a lunging stance. The fresh powder made my falls a little less painful and turns (albeit alpine) a little easier. I was cutting wedgies out of the side of the hill, as well as perfecting the art of skiing backwards down the slope. Every time I fell, those damn poles got in the way, so I was thrilled when Diane told us to leave them at the bottom for the remainder of the lesson. One less thing to think about. In the middle of feeling like I was being taught to walk for the first time, I felt my ski roots coming back to me. Remembering all the tricks my father, who was a ski instructor, had embedded into my head. I feel a reconnecting with a part of my past that I thought I left behind when I made the switch to snowboarding. My dad will be happy to hear that! I was having fun on two sticks again.

Lunch couldn’t have come at a better time. I piled my plate high with most of the items in this gourmet spread and sat down to get an overview from Diane on the first half of our day. We were all given tips on what we needed to work on individually and watched the video of ourselves she had taken on some of the runs. I blushed as my portion came up. Code Red. I was well behind the level of my fellow students, but they all had encouraging words and I felt like I had a team behind me routing for me to get better. The camaraderie between us was building and I could see why women specific programs have become so popular. My inhibitions were starting to fade. I couldn’t wait to get back out for the second half of the day to practice.

I lasted for a few more runs, bloated with overeating and quads that felt as if they were going to explode. Diane told me to have patience in my turns, so that became my mantra for the rest of my day. Seeing as I am not a very patient person, this is probably good advice for me to heed. By the time I bid my crew goodbye with homework in hand I felt as if I made some new friends and rekindled a love of skis. It felt good to feel vulnerable, and like a beginner. To feel like a little kid again to some degree and to challenge myself was invigorating. I can’t wait for next Tuesday.

I have found myself on an exposed ledge no wider than 5 inches. The air around me is hot and sticky. Sandstone cliffs rise above my head giving way to blue skies. Thousands of feet below me, a vast, barren landscape of waterless, desert valleys drop away. I am gripping to the rock for dear life. I have no rope, and to my knowledge, there is no one around to hear me if I yell out for help. I am painfully aware that the next step I take could very well be my solo launch into oblivion. I am frozen with fear, tears are rolling down my cheeks, I am starting to break into a nervous sweat and I am at a desperate loss for what to do next. I feel as if I am about to die. Suddenly, I wake up. I am sweating in real life, but I am in my bed, not on a cliff looking into emptiness. I have had this dream so many times since I was a little girl. I often wondered if, in my waking life, I would find myself in this place.

I got fed up with wigging out any time I found myself on a curvy road with steep drop offs, a ladder cleaning the gutters on my house, or a trail that was even the least bit exposed. I grew tired of the fear. Not just the obvious one of falling but of the unknown and of change, I grew tired of making decisions out of fear. Everything in my body, spirit and mind was screaming at me to face these issues head on. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. With the encouragement from my friend, I decided to take a class at the climbing gym. Maybe within those walls, I would find the strength to push my inner limits.

This little step freaked me out. While reading all the “risks” involved that I can’t hold the gym responsible for, I nearly walked out in the middle of signing all my release forms. What’s a belay? A carabiner?, It sounded naughty, where does that go? Why are my toes curled under my feet and I’m walking like a cowboy in ballet shoes? Is it really necessary to say “climbing”? Isn’t it obvious what I am doing? I was by myself, I was intimidated by all the testosterone around me and nervous of making a fool of myself not to mention, flat out scared. I mustered everything in me, and stayed for the course.

Nerves and shaky legs aside, to my absolute dismay I had a blast. At the end of class, the woman I got partnered with and I decided to stay for another 4 hours and play. This was just the beginning. We became quick friends and started climbing regularly at the gym, and each time I got a little more comfortable in my own skin and mind. I also learned I could take my shoes off when not on the wall.

Slowly, I began to climb outside. Single pitch climbs that felt just like the gym, but with fresh air, eased me in to multi-pitch adventures. A little bit too long of a gaze downward, and I was convinced that this was it, this is where my dream becomes reality and I fall into nothingness. At a difficult move, crying hysterically was a better choice than actually dealing with the task at hand which was to get to the top as fast as possible. While wildly trying to find my next hold, I made promises to myself I would never do this again. What was I thinking? Surely there is a better way to conquer my neuroses than this. Perhaps a soft couch in a doctors office sipping a hot cup of tea? Eventually though, I would get to the top, a patient friend there to receive me, and all was right again. Fear mixed with elation. I could reflect and be proud of my accomplishment, embarrassed by my meltdown and remarkably, able to appreciate the stunning views around me. The peaceful silence or the swish of a bird flying by, were reminders of my love of the outdoors. I found a deep strength developing.

This past September, I climbed Cathedral Peak in Yosemite. Not the most difficult climb, but a long, exposed, 7 pitches to the summit. A perfect granite slab that slims as it ascends towards its tiny summit.

A cold wind passes by the rock face, giving me the shivers. I am on a ledge, not moving. Several hundred feet below me, is a lake reflecting like a mirror the peaks all around me. Gray rock leads to hazy blue skies. I am waiting for the bottleneck of other climbers to clear so we can head up the chimney. I feel so peaceful as if I could hang there all day and watch the ghost like shadow of Half Dome in the distance. I feel blessed to have this bird’s nest view of the world around me. I realize that this is the place in my dream. The sandstone walls, dry valleys, and feelings of desperation have now been replaced by a simple smile and feeling of exhilaration. There is still fear but it doesn’t grip me or own me anymore.

I climb because it takes me to beautiful perches on mountainsides, it feeds my soul and I enjoy it. It encourages me to keep that commitment to myself that I made so long ago to embrace that which I am afraid of. It reminds me how precious life is, how beautiful the world can be, and that I can call up the courage I need to be fully engaged in life. From this small effort of taking a climbing class have come lessons bigger and more powerful than I had imagined. It is all this that keeps me coming back for more.

I duck out of the house trying to go undetected by the dogs. I love being on the trail with them, but sometimes I just need my alone time. I crave the feeling of placing my earphones in my ear, choosing a good playlist, adjusting the volume and pressing play. I head for the trail two blocks down the road. By the time I am half way through the first song, my run turns into an ass kicker hill climb, well ass kicker for me anyway. I hate it, but I love it too. It is an obstacle course for me.

Every rock, boulder, exposed tree root or gravel patch reminds me of a game I played with my mom when I was a little girl in the city. We called it “don’t step on the cracks”. There was no point to the game other than to make walking around more fun. This run has to be fun or I won’t do it. The chatter in my mind quiets and I am aware of my heavy breathing and how the music is almost keeping beat with my whole body. An odd affection for the stair-master condition of the trail swells in me. My quads take on any tension that my shoulders might be holding. I look forward to the first drops of sweat to fall. I am amazed at how my body can do what I ask it to do. Each lunge upward sets me free.

Last season, I found myself waking early to check the snow reports. It was probably bordering on OCD, but it was all for a good cause. We had a killer season in Summit County and I enjoyed at least 35 days of it. I became the master of leaving the mountain in time to get back to town for my bar shift at the restaurant. Like superwoman, in my car, I would deftly manouver out of my gear into work clothes, take out my braids throw some lip gloss on and poof I was ready to sling drinks! This season has been a bit different, with having a more normal schedule (yes, I know that most people don’t think of 10-3 as normal, but I am blessed) getting up to the mountain hasn’t been as easy, nor has the snow been as good at the resorts. So last week when I heard reports that we were getting a March dump my heart started pounding. Would I be able to get in some yummy fresh powder runs that had eluded me thus far? I was skeptical. I did my thing and combed the internet for any sign that would justify a hooky day in the middle of a crazy work week. I found the nugget I was looking for! I coaxed James (really it didn’t take much, just a mere email) to head up to Copper. Total time between leaving Boulder and strapping in to the snowboards? 1 hour 25 minutes. On the chair ride up, we both looked below us and frowned, where was all the fresh stuff? Oh, well it didn’t matter, we were sitting on a chair lift and not a desk chair. What awaited us at the top was pure bliss. Fat flakes fell fast. In between the trees was heaven, I just wanted to stay them all day. Then we checked out the back bowls. Expecting ice sheets and rutted out terrain, imagine the giddiness that came over when it was the complete opposite. We asked a patroller if he had suggestions for us, and he pointed the way to the far bowl that promised no tracks or people. By the time we got there, the “closed” sign was up. We debated for two minutes, looked around and of course decided to hike the ridge for 20 minutes and drop in. It was this last run that made playing hooky worth it. I floated down the slope, getting face shots of powder with every turn. James had dropped in behind me so I felt like I was alone, I glided through the trees. If I closed my eyes the snow beneath my board could have been water. It was a dreamy experience and just what I needed. My mind was right there and no where else. Pure bliss. Soon, James caught up to me, and we both had grins from ear to ear all the way back to Boulder. I would argue that our day of hooky actually led to a more productive work week than if we hadn’t gone at all. Feel free to use this argument with your boss too, better yet ask your boss to go with you!