I am not 15 anymore, but my feet, nose and ears keep growing, along with my belly.
I have started wearing T-shirts under my sweaters these days as the first step of winter layering, allowing me to acclimate and assimilate outside and turn the heat down a notch inside and sleep cool.
I bought a new pair of winter slip-on snow loafers and my feet have grown a full size since the last new ones 10 years ago.
My ski boots have amazingly kept pace, getting stretched and packed down from years of sloshing.
I even bought a new pair of skis since it has been 10 years since I found the last ones in the wrapper for $100. This time it cost $200, but I blame that on inflation and, of course, Joe Biden.
I liked the green Zebra graphics, camber, shape and flex as much as the price. I like them long for cruising or pow and thin underfoot so I can step on them and turn. When I brought them home, I found out they were good, popular all-mountain skis and “playful.” Like me.
I am frugal but not stupid, safety is my priority, and so I bought the best and lightest 400-gram, purple Euro AT bindings for $900. They said it was the tariffs, so I blame The Donald.
But it’s been more than a few long years for me with minimal skiing. First there was Covid for a few years, then we went south for a few winters. Then my head, heart, eyes, shoulders and lungs went south on me for a few years.
Then it became so corporate and crowded that all I would do is go up there and yell at people. It takes me five minutes to drive to the resort and if it takes seven, I am furious. Perhaps it was me and I needed some time off to recoup, recharge and reinvent.
It hasn’t been so bad since I found other cool things to do. I wrapped up my career as a hydrologist with a few legacy projects and now I want to be a writer when I grow up. But skiing is what I love and have dedicated my life to. It’s time for a second chance.
I missed skiing. That first run of the year when you remember how fun it really is to go fast outside, on the hills, in the woods, in the cold sun. The feel of bottomless powder blowing over your head and making it a three-dimensional sport and not just a frictionless plane.
The joy of meeting friends on the mountain on a Sunday morning for group shredding, laughing and lunch. Coffee breaks in the morning with the boys on a Tuesday when no one is around. Skiing backwards with kids and getting them to appreciate this carefree and social, athletic and natural endeavor and lifestyle.
Skiing in storms so wicked it tears at your face and vision, or snow falling so soft and silent that you can’t hear yourself think, or days so cold that trees crack and your spit freezes before it hits the ground. The last run of the year on corn, so soft it borders on mashed potatoes, in T-shirts, with lathered sunscreen and tattered brimmed hats.
So, with all the new lifts and gondolas, there is a new me. No longer rising before first light and charging up early after all my research and chores, I will sleep until I wake and saunter up at 10 o’ 12.
Traffic will be defeated, and parking will reopen with people leaving already. It won’t be first shots or face shots or frozen corduroy, but it will be calm, kinder and gentler like it used to be.
The sun will be up, the air will be warmer, the masses already in the back bowls, leaving the rest of the mountain to me and mine.
After a few fast fresh and athletic runs, I can stop for coffee, a beer or lunch and schmooze with some friends or work the room. Then a few social runs after lunch before the light fades and the lack of will, effort and ability prevail.
Then home before the crush for a dog walk, a nap in my long-johns and a cocktail before dinner. This is my quest, this is my test, no matter how small, no matter how tall.
Be like the Marines: adapt, adjust, improvise, overcome and show resilience and resourcefulness. Semper Fi. Make It so. Let it be. I don’t know, whatever, never mind.
Keep Park City cool and kind.
Water and Whatever
Matthew Lindon lives in Snyderville. See his website: Waterandwhatever.com