From my NS blog: https://www.newschoolers.com/web/content/blogs/member_id/91259/
Okay rewind back to when I was in grade 6, back to the kid I was with a pre-pubescent squawky voice. Growing up in the big metropolis of Toronto, yes I was a born and bred city slicker. It all began as a school trip, it was late January, the place-Horseshoe Valley, a fine specimen of a hill with the ridiculous vertical rise of 95 metres, and the longest run being 671 metres. The condition in Southern Ontario are like no other, with beautiful shiny ice strips and patches right around every corner of groomers, it was easy to see myself as a bobsledder of skiies.
But I digress, arriving with +100 gapers from my school, myself included, in grade 6, the dilemma of properly fitting boots to a hundred plus kids caused chaos and havoc, but I persevered as one of the first kids out the door with ski, poles and all-goggles not included.
Now with the TDSB (Toronto District School Board)- strict son of a guns- you have to get stickers: red, blue, green being the final one to allow you to different part of the hill.
I am not sure how but I managed to slide my ass down the icy sloops to achieve my green sticker, allowing full mountain (really?) privileges.
The rest of the
day consisted of races and yardsales, many, and the day that started my
joy and
passion for skiing. Just out on the snow, having a great time with
friends, and
isn’t that the whole point of skiing, let alone life. The seed was
planted, in
a metaphorical sense, and from that day on I’ve been thinking,
dreaming,
talking, watching and writing about skiing. I remember the nights
before i would go skiing, i would be so pumped, and stoked just
thinking about ripping lines, a long time before the park picture came
into my head.
Just the feel when you know you are the first one down a run, or a line, even if it is a groomer. The fresh S’s are carved, imprinted into one of Mother Nature’s greats gifts to mankind (fire is so overrated), soon to be washed out by others.
Aptly describing what skiing is, and means to me, can only be done successfully by looking at the smile that gleams across my face at the end of an epic line, or newly learned trick.
Since that day long ago in the 6th grade, I have skied everywhere in Southern Ontario, including the private resorts. My first full year (a ski year in Ontario is roughly 4.5 months) consisted of Sunday lessons. Lessons might sound lame, but to me it meant guaranteed skiing at least once a week. And hey, lessons were only half a day so I could spend the 2nd half, doing whatever the hell my heart desired. My skiing has even led my family to Quebec to ski a small portion of their great mountains, and out west to Colorado, a trip of a lifetime. (If you ever find yourself in Copper with nothing do, hit up the free cat skiing, as it will put the cherry atop almost all ski trips)
Although my pow day can be counted on one hand, I still cringe( I’ve got therapy for the cutting) when the skies are full of falling flakes and I’m stuck at the prison, the government officials like to refer to as “school”. Maybe my time has come to just move out west and start my dream as a ski bum.
Bonus: I was
writing this at work (its Saturday, I work at Booster Juice, who the hell would
want healthy juice on a Saturday, so I had lots of time on my hands).
My co-worker
asks what I was writing and I stated I was writing for a ski blog that I had
and it was for the “newschool” style of skiing. I asked her if she knew what
freeskiing was, and I kid you not, she says:
“Is that where
you ski without poles”
Hope your having a great weekend NS!
