Valentine’s Day tales of love — of skiing - Boston Herald

I’m not a Valentine’s Day fan, and that’s not because I’m single and alone and wishing for someone to send me a box of weird chocolates or mega-amped-up-price flowers. I don’t like Valentine’s Day because it’s too … forced. There’s too much pressure. I just don’t see the point.

But when it comes to celebrating my love of the mountains and ski life, I’m all for it. So let me flip the script this Valentine’s Day and instead of hoping for overpriced roses or sending a syrupy card to my spouse, let me celebrate my love of this sport. Because honestly, there really should be a holiday to celebrate skiing. Here are just a few moments in my long, long ski career that I remember feeling the love profoundly. Read on — and perhaps you’ll share yours as well.

• I remember the first time my parents let me (along with my friend Tracy Briggs) go off and ski the resort without a parent or instructor. It was at Afton Alps (https://ift.tt/2Hjz8Y2) in Minnesota (don’t laugh when you study the trail map — that place felt big to a little kid!) and I recall that while it was well below zero, my friend and I were so excited we skied just about all day. Our moms had placed a home-cooked lunch under a table for us to pull out later and I can remember as we dug into the chili and pumpkin cake just feeling alive. I think it was the first time I truly understood the freedom skiing can give even a (well-trained) little kid. That was in the late 1960s and I can feel that joy as if it were a minute ago. That’s a lasting love.

Flipping that, I can still remember the first day I let my children go off and ski on their own. We were at Beaver Creek in Colorado (https://ift.tt/2ytV2AR), and while I was always a stickler for the girls being in ski school all day, they’d been begging for a freedom day. They knew how to read trail maps and we’d outlined where they could ski. They headed off for the morning and I felt the love of seeing my girls embrace the ski life, too.

• Almost exactly seven years ago to the day I was skiing at a smaller, lesser-known ski resort near Taos, New Mexico, called Red River (https://ift.tt/2vnV01A). It was bluebird day and I’d found a lot of fun steeps (my favorite!) to carve down. But it was on a beginner trail that my love soared. The narrow, winding trail cut through a thick forest of Aspens (Quaking Aspens are the most common tree in the mountains of New Mexico). The sun was filtering through the trees creating a surreal light. The snow was pure white and pretty much untouched. I carved around a corner and came to an altar someone had built with fallen tree branches and stopped. Standing there, quiet, with the warm sun’s rays finding me through those trees I thought, “I need to renew my vows — right here.” Some day I will do just that and renew my vows not just to my skiing husband, but to skiing as a whole. I can still feel that warm when I revisit the pictures.

• It was a powder day at my “home” ski area of Tyrol in Jackson, New Hampshire, (sadly no longer in business) and my ski gang and I — per usual — had been the first on the slopes that morning. But now, as the crowds were there, we’d found a little off-piste spot and created our own trail, complete with a jump at the end that would take us back to the main trail. I was with Andy, Michelle, Nicki, Nancy, Mary, Dave, Jackie, Jeff and more (I can still remember each person down to what we were wearing). We were teenagers —the age that is supposed to be so hard to please. But for hours, we took that fun woodsy trail over and over and over, giggling all the way. I felt so much love: the love of having a home mountain. The love of finding a cool little spot on the mountain to claim as your own for a bit. But most of all: the love of a gang of friends bonded by a shared true love for ski life. Oh, how I love that gang to this day.

There are so many more: The first time I saw either of my girls ski. The first time I skied out West with my husband. The day (I swear!) a spirit swirl of snow followed a friend and me all over Lake Louise as we skied. The simple beauty of a perfectly prepared base lodge cheeseburger.

And there will be more: More special days when the light is just right and the world on snow just feels at peace. The days that my husband and I hope for: when we are in our 80s and still taking runs. Love means having more to look forward to. And this: my granddaughter asked me to show her pictures of mountains the other day and when I did, said in her most adorable 2-year-old voice, “I am going skiing there with Rara! And we’ll have hot chocolate.” Yes, I feel that love already.

I hate Valentine’s Day, but if I use it to celebrate skiing? It’s as good as carving the first turns of the day on untouched corduroy. Now that’s love. Tell me your #SkiLoveStory.

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February 12, 2020 at 05:46PM
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Valentine’s Day tales of love — of skiing - Boston Herald
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