Winter Sports

And so we fly off the end of December's uneven ramp and ski jump into the bright, sun-flaring air of January 2025. Will it be a downhill run from here to Spring, or some sort of slalom course? Or will we misjudge our jump, planted head first in the snow, buried up to our waists, unable to move forward? Personally, I try the difficult trick of switching from skis to snow shoes in mid-leap. They're not the fastest footwear but they certainly provide the surest step. Slow and steady wins the race, after all. Just remember to adjust your goggles. And fortunately I'm an old, wily Olympian, who is experienced in the changeable weather of winter sports. I know this terrain like the back of my hand because it's the pattern printed on the back of my ski glove. But I'm not so sure about these competitors of mine: she will land awkwardly, requiring hip replacement surgery; he always manages to twist his ankle every year and needs help standing up straight again; they lose control of their skis, swerving this way and that until they eventually crash into a snow bank. But I just plod along in my snow shoes, mile after mile, until I reach the finish line to claim my prize. Afterwards, you'll find me in the wood cabin lodge, nursing a Brandy Alexander by the fire, watching the stragglers struggle with their broken legs and frostbitten fingers. Happy New Year everyone.

Comments

[Tatyana]

And as I'm known to repeat year after year: I am the one at the bottom of the slope, watching all of you adrenaline junkies, ready to offer extra pair of mittens, cup of reinforced tea or coffee, nose tissues, and mandatory admiration.