My Ego as a Senior Skier
The aging process does weird things to the mind. We remember days of yesteryear winding down through moguls on a steep run all day, thinking it was fun. Or floating through knee-deep powder all day from when the lifts open until they close. Today, in my dotage, when confronted with a steep pitch full of knee-high, well-rounded moguls, I go around. Or, after two long runs through knee- or thigh-deep powder, my legs say we’re done for the day. The mind is willing, but the body says, “Hell no.”
A Sunny Day!
Unfortunately, I don’t live near a ski area where I can ski seven days a week. Each year, I work hard to get in less good shape than the previous year. And, what trainers tell me, getting into good skiing shape gets harder with every coming year. The message is that you can’t beat Father Time.
So why ski? Given the image the marketing folks want to portray, if one is not blasting through the trees in deep powder, or bouncing through the moguls, or leaping off rocks, one right after the other, why do I ski?
Because I love it. At 78, my ego no longer needs to be fed by a run through knee- deep moguls or skiing fast down a double diamond. Instead, I enjoy making a round carved turn that controls my speed on any pitch. I now only ski on groomed runs no matter how steep and stay out of trails that look like a hockey rink, bumps and now, even glades unless they are wide open. Nor do I ski in soft, mushy, clumpy snow. So what?
Now I take my time, stopping more often. Each run is precious because it may be my last – not because of death, but because of injury. Like most senior skiers, I am most afraid of being injured by an out-of-control skier who is either stoned, inebriated, skiing
way too fast for the conditions, on a run well beyond his/her ability, or a combination of all the above.
My bones no longer break; they are more likely to shatter. A simple fracture that will heal in a 40-year-old body in a month or two may take major surgery and heal in six or more months if it ever does. So, yes, I am careful where and what I ski and in what
conditions.
I even find myself taking in the vistas around me. There’s not a photograph that does justice to the majesty of snow-covered mountains, whether in Vermont, California, New Mexico, British Columbia, Austria, or New Zealand. There’s nothing like breathing in the cold, crisp air while giving your thighs a breather and admiring the work of Mother Nature.
Double diamond, expert, intermediate, beginner, if it is groomed, I’m in. To me, the degree of difficulty of the trail is irrelevant.
My ego is in doing what I must to keep skiing for as long as Father Time allows. My ego is the simple act of being able to turn a pair of skis and carve a turn in any condition I choose.
My ego is in the fact that I am skiing, not what I am skiing.
