The photo shows the brave shadow of an 86 year old gent, about to go tearing down a certified double black run. On skis, if you can imagine such a thing. Wonderful. I often get a little excited about myself but THIS is the real McCoy.
Sort of. Alas we-are not in Aspen, where I was scheduled to be this week. And where the double black boast would have meant a lot. This is mighty Catamount Mountain about a half-hour from my Berkshires home. Aspen was canceled because, unlike me, none of my Aspen pals have been vaccinated and couldn’t see me. So here I am, boldly doing a double black (there was a sign) which might have been seen as a particularly demanding blue out west.
No matter, skiing is still a major joy in my life. This hill is steep if not bumpy and I am thrilled to be here. And grateful to be able to do this stuff, more or less like a kid. It is a pleasing blend of muscle memory and the dreadful workouts I do every damn day. Today, all that’s worth it. Okay, I may not ski like a kid, but close enough. Besides, anyone my age who puts his very own boots on gets 90 percent for the day.
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