The beginning

Anticipation of approaching the mountain always gives my heart a jump. The first ski of the season is often met with mixed emotions, dishing out for a season pass always dampens the mood. My credit card is swiped, the pit in my stomach opens wide and I feel like my life is being sucked away. A little buyers remorse spruns inside my head, 'will it snow, is this worth it, they keep just raising the prices, maybe I should boycott, should I earn all my turns.' Before any of these thoughts solidify my tentative smile appears on another years season pass and I'm walking toward the lift. The ride up drags on a little longer than I remember. The first ride up is often awkward, sitting next to some 50 year old snowboarder, attempting to make conversation. I spent the first day of the season attempting to break in my new scarpa boots. Rough, they just don't seem to fit right. Pretty quickly I realized my pre-season workout was a little lacking, as my legs screamed with each turn and my blood felt like battery acid. By the third run I was feeling the turn come back and the burning sizzled down as my deteriorated quads began to remember. By this time the small amount of man made snow that was on the mountain had been sprayed to the sides while the majority of the run was a nice sheet of ice. My never tuned skis attempted to grip the ice but slipped over and over again, causing flashes of blown out knees to plague my thoughts. Once my mind balanced I stopped fighting my edges and let them grip. Those first turns when my muscle memory comes back sends jolts of excitement. It's back, winter is back.