My non-skier friends think I have a problem.
Heck, even some of my friends who ski think I have a problem. But I don’t really care, because no matter how I do the math, skiing comes out the solution.
My first (reliably datable) memory is of learning to ski. My parents, loathe to miss out of a ski vacation just because of a toddler, stuck me in French Canadian ski school. It didn’t matter that I didn’t speak a word of French. I figured it out.
I grew up in the flatlands of Massachusetts where skiing isn’t a common family activity, especially if you’re starting your kids as young as we did. My first time on skis, I was 15 months old. The rest is glorious, powdery history.
I think it’s miraculous that I’m able to live in Burlington, just 45 minutes from my current ski-area of choice. And I think it’s miraculous, too, that I have family and friends with whom to share my runs.
I’m so happy to have been born a skier.
Sidecountry Living 