2007-03-02 00:00:00, kirlyle
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I, like many of you, have a history with skiing that outdates my memory. There are photo albums filled with gems like: "Kirsten's first day on skis, and the typical portraits of my family and I smiling ear-to-ear, clad in our super steezy early-eighties ski garb. These aren't real memories though. If weren't for these Kodak moments and other memorabilia documenting my childhood I might as well have just assumed that I was born with a pair of ski boots on my feet (at least that would explain the mildly embarrassing shape of my toes). I don't remember a time before skiing nor do I wish to envision my life without it but unfortunately this is not to say that I have always loved the sport. It was not until I started skiing purely for the sake of skiing itself did it become my
life long passion.
I grew up as a bratty little ski racer. The fact that I got to spend every weekend in
the mountains was just one of many things I took for granted. It wasn't until I was fifteen years old, on a sunny pow day at Lake Louise, did my appreciation of skiing begin to change. Our coach at the time (Mike Koper) had, much to our chagrin, decided to forgo training that day in favor of shredding pow. There was so much snow that it probably would have been impossible to train gates anyway, but we were pissed and behaved accordingly. I'm sure Koper considered leaving us little bastards at the top of the Paradise Chair but instead, he said something that I will remember for the rest of my life:
"Maybe, instead of being angry and frustrated that your day isn't going as planned, you guys should just take a look around you and realize where you are, and how luck you are to be here".
As he skied off I hesitantly gazed across the Valley of the Ten Peaks, one of the most coveted natural landscapes in the world, I shamefully realized in an instant I had been taking so much for granted. I quit racing the next year and starting skiing that day.
The true transition of skiing from extracurricular activity to life long passion was solidified with my first day in the backcountry. I was at Kicking Horse Mountain on a sloppy rented touring set-up that made me feel like a baby giraffe on roller skates. The gliding motion became surprisingly natural as I reached the top of the ridge. My eyes feasted upon the field of virgin backcountry pow. I was so excited I didn't even realize one of my bindings was still in climbing mode as I began my descent (a common amateur mistake I'm sure). My first time skiing the untouched backcountry snow was a euphoric moment of clarity, the entire world seemed to disappear around me, and I knew I was hooked. That moment was my first taste of the intrinsic value of skiing, and little did I know at the time, but it was going to change my life forever.
This spring take a moment to remember and appreciate the people who helped you find the mountains, and realize your ability to do the same for someone else.
the mountains was just one of many things I took for granted. It wasn't until I was fifteen years old, on a sunny pow day at Lake Louise, did my appreciation of skiing begin to change. Our coach at the time (Mike Koper) had, much to our chagrin, decided to forgo training that day in favor of shredding pow. There was so much snow that it probably would have been impossible to train gates anyway, but we were pissed and behaved accordingly. I'm sure Koper considered leaving us little bastards at the top of the Paradise Chair but instead, he said something that I will remember for the rest of my life:
"Maybe, instead of being angry and frustrated that your day isn't going as planned, you guys should just take a look around you and realize where you are, and how luck you are to be here".
As he skied off I hesitantly gazed across the Valley of the Ten Peaks, one of the most coveted natural landscapes in the world, I shamefully realized in an instant I had been taking so much for granted. I quit racing the next year and starting skiing that day.
The true transition of skiing from extracurricular activity to life long passion was solidified with my first day in the backcountry. I was at Kicking Horse Mountain on a sloppy rented touring set-up that made me feel like a baby giraffe on roller skates. The gliding motion became surprisingly natural as I reached the top of the ridge. My eyes feasted upon the field of virgin backcountry pow. I was so excited I didn't even realize one of my bindings was still in climbing mode as I began my descent (a common amateur mistake I'm sure). My first time skiing the untouched backcountry snow was a euphoric moment of clarity, the entire world seemed to disappear around me, and I knew I was hooked. That moment was my first taste of the intrinsic value of skiing, and little did I know at the time, but it was going to change my life forever.
This spring take a moment to remember and appreciate the people who helped you find the mountains, and realize your ability to do the same for someone else.
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