Tag Archives: ski

Learning Curve: The Road Less Traveled.

Wizard's Gulch

Full disclosure: I have been skiing for a long, long time. Well, I’m 28 and I’ve been skiing since I was 3. Okay, here comes the disclosure part. I’m still not that good at it. I mean, I suppose “good” is all relative, but I can’t ski the way a lot of my friends do, flying between moguls or dropping cliffs with seemingly small effort.

I grew up skiing the East Coast, exclusively, where groomers rule and rules abound. My parents also happen to be strictly on-pisters. Last year, I skied New Zealand, which is what I like to call a lawless land.

Deterrents. Cardrona.
Deterrents. Cardrona.

While it may not truly be “lawless,” New Zealanders are definitely a lot more blasé about what actually constitute boundaries and who may ski within (or outside of) them. Continue reading

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Sap Sap Sappy Thanksgiving 2oThirteen.

This Thanksgiving Eve finds me sitting at an Ikea kitchen table that I shared with an ex, once upon a time. It’s now in my bedroom. In my parents’ house. There’s only one chair. (The other one was lost in a flood.) It’s also from Ikea. This visual gets more depressing with every passing detail. There’s even a candle. Unlit. And an opened box of Entenmann’s “donuts.” And a feline reposing in my lap. Just kidding… about those last two things, anyway.

The floor behind me is, literally, covered with books and laundry and 10 pairs of shoes and five pieces of luggage and 37 pieces of cameras and a statue of Ganesha.

So, at 28, this probably isn’t exactly where most people would want to be. But I am thankful to be here.

This has been one crazy year (so far). I didn’t realise until my mum brought it to my attention, but I set foot on five continents in eight months. That’s, like, the definition of a crazy year. But also the definition of a remarkable year.

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Boxing Day: Kirra’s Mean Right Hook

Thanks to Cyclone Fina, the Gold Coast picked up some major swell over the holly days. Check out my current home break on Dec. 26th:

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Diplomas and Splints and Snow

You: Up to speed. In brief:

12.10.10

After showing my outta-town friends what the Jersey Shore is really like, I tumbled down some stairs and broke my finger.

I maintain that the culprit was the extreme lack of light by which that staircase may have been seen.

12.17.10

NYU threw us a graduation fete. The best way to say, “Congratulations on completing your master’s program!” is really to dole out oodles of free wine, and that they did. My mom got drunk and wrote “Viagra” on a white board–we have no idea why:

 

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Sunday River

Through my eyes:

AND, of course,

The new helmet!

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To helmet or not to helmet? That is the question (of cool)

My mom called me before;

Our conversation went nothing like this:

“Hey Case”

“Hey Mom”

“I was thinking it might be nice if I bought you a ski helmet as part of your Christmas gift.”

“Oh… yeah… well… that might be nice, I guess, thanks.”

“Yeah, I mean, if that’s what you want, if you’d wear it.”

“Right, thanks, I’ll think about it and let you know.”

Instead, it went like this:

“[weird distracted silence] Oh hey, I was just calling you before as an excuse so I wouldn’t have to go into a store with your father.”

“So does that mean you’re busy?”

“No.”

“I’m going to buy you a ski helmet as yo- part of your Christmas present.”

“Uhh….”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to just buy it; you can pick it out.  But YOU ARE WEARING A HELMET TO SKI IN.”

“Look, I’m not completely opposed to the idea, but why do you have to say it like that, as if I have no say in the matter?  I’m 24 years old, I mean, come on.”

“Well I do NOT want to get stuck with someone who-

(here, I began preparing to hang up the phone)

falls and hits her head and ends up STUPID.”

Click.

So, ski helmets.  As I said, I’m not completely opposed to the idea of protecting my noggin while barreling down an icy mountain.  I’m not.  It’s just that… how am I supposed to wear a cool hat with a pom pom if I’m wearing a helmet?

My parents have been trying to get us to wear helmets since we were snowy, little whippersnappers… it has never stuck.  We had really nice, if extremely fugly, helmets when we were maybe 6 or 8 years old.  Never wore ’em.  Then, in a blatantly desperate attempt at tomfoolery, Kel and Dave bought us hockey helmets, I kid you not, because they thought we might find them “cooler.”  Never wore those either.  As if it’s even a good idea to wear a hockey helmet while skiing.  I’m pretty sure you lose some peripheral vision in those clunky things.

If I were to wear a helmet, it would probably be one like this.

Just kidding.

This one I actually do like.  I kind of want it.

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