Same skin track, different day. I’m all alone this time. Step. Step. Step.
A few more tracks. Still plenty of untracked. Move. Keep going.
All the way to the summit this time. The legs are still sore from Saturday. Shut up, legs.
Turns. Beautiful turns.
Big, wide open, hard charging, bottomless turns. Right down the center of Middle Hardscrabble. Bewildering.
And then more bottomless turns on Zoomer. And again. Zoom Zoom.
Amazing.
knowing how to endure is wisdom
not knowing is to suffer in vain
-lao-tzu (trans. red pine)
Memories trick us into believing that we are Ships of Theseus — that our essence is unchangeable. But memories are fallible, created by emotion. Memories are often false. They are visions of how we wished events happened rather than what actually happened. We are constantly changing, waking up slightly different than the day before. Our brains unconsciously clear themselves of excess baggage, enacting self defense mechanisms to shield our fragile egos.
I woke one day and realized that I wasn’t the same as I used to be. What happened to the unending passion and drive? The wants, needs, and desires were still there but not the energy nor will. What happens when you overcome all of the obstacles that you sought out? What happens when the only obstacle remaining is yourself, but that challenge turns into an utter failure?
What happens is you get over yourself. Things will never be as they once were. I am a Ship of Theseus that has been slowly dismantled and rebuilt piece by piece until nothing remains of my past drives. Understanding that fact and accepting that fact — internalizing that fact — are two very different things.
Enduring is action. Action is movement. The old drives and will have failed. Keep moving. It doesn’t matter if there is no goal or objective or passion or will. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t feel like it used to. It never was going to and it never will. Not for me. Not for anyone.
Movement begets movement. Keep moving. You don’t need a reason. You don’t need motivation. You don’t need passion.
Just move. Just endure.
a giant tree grows from the tiniest shoot
a great tower rises from a basket of dirt
a thousand-mile journey begins at your feet
-lao-tzu (trans. red pine)
Most people think the hardest part of a journey is the first step. It’s not. The hardest part of a journey is every additional step after the first one. People take first steps on intended journeys all the time. It is easy to take a first step when you are inspired or motivated. Sustaining that inspiration or motivation is the challenge. Seeing intentions through, resolving a step from an act into a habit, is the hardest part. First steps are trite (and not accurately quoted from the source material).
This outing began much like the last. Uninspired. I was tired from twelve hour work days and six day work weeks. But then, I saw pictures from other people on their own journeys, dealing with their own challenges. I’ve been down on internet stoke for quite a while. I don’t even like the word. Stoke. Who needs pictures to get excited to go skiing? I do, now, I guess. Or, at least, it temporarily tripped me out of my slumber, altering my gait.
Lately, I am connecting with ski touring in a different way. There is something about that sound, that cadence…
Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step.
etc.
Cannon. My favorite mountain. Yet, I have been such a stranger lately. Only five visits during the past two years? It could only mean that my discount strategies have expired. Even today, I refused to pay full price and opted for the half day ticket. Cannon is always good enough for me (even at its worst). But never good enough to pay full price.
Cannon is home. Seems like it always has been and always will be. Yet I’ve skied Jay more times. I have had season passes at Jay but never at Cannon. But Cannon is home and Jay isn’t. Jay has been quite good to me over the years. But it will never be in my blood. Jay is the smart play for reliable trees and powder but… well, there is always a but. Jay is to my mind as Cannon is to my heart.
Before skiing, I stopped by the repair shop for my once per year ski tune. For some reason, I thought I might need it today. It wasn’t my skis that needed the tune up but rather my head. My first turns were a sloppy skidding mess despite the tune and generally soft snow. I wasn’t forward enough, not enough angulation, my stance was too narrow. My mind wasn’t “in it”. I wasn’t going for it like it was yet another epic powder day *yawn*.
But after a few runs, I found some aggression. My hands clenched around my pole grips a bit tighter as I applied forward pressure to my boot tongues and laid an edge that stuck, propelling me forward into the next turn. Not effortless, not like I’ve become used to. But requiring mindfulness and attention, requiring effort and rewarding that effort appropriately. Cannon said “you’ve become soft, push a bit harder”. So I did. And it felt great.
Every ski season* has an ending and a beginning with purgatory in between. And much like the mountains, our seasons have peaks and valleys, highs and lows. Those who want for consistency and regularity in their lives need not apply. Skiing is an activity better suited to those who enjoy extremes, people who can not only accept but revel in and embrace the worst of conditions**.
Beginnings are powerful. More than just a do over or a redo, beginnings suggest that something even better is coming. We sweep away the hardships of the past and get on with things. And even following a season of many epic days, skiers are still ever hopeful that this season might be the big one.
Dad once commented on my tendency towards extremes. He saw the potential danger rather than the beauty in extremes. But for me, even in the depths of despair, I would suddenly cackle with delight at how wonderful if felt to be alive, to be able to feel, even if to feel terrible. It was still joyous in a way. Amor fati was a way of life for me long before I read Nietzsche.
While a new ski season began for me this weekend, I continue on in purgatory: long having sought a new beginning that remains elusive. There are no highs nor lows, just a constant grind. One might think that burn out would make someone negative. But rather, burn out leaves you hollow and uninspired. The ski season may have begun but I still seek a new beginning.
*Ski season here is connoted as a localized season rather than an individual’s personal season.
**Not a reflection or implication of the skiing at Sunday River, far from it.