Probably written 20+ years ago
Middle of August: Dreaming of Skiing
I drempt about skiing last night. I suppose I’ve healed some, this used to start happening in May, now it happens in August. Now that I’ve had my first dream of the summer, they will start to happen more often -- time will seem to stretch. This ailment that has been dormant for months is beginning to stir.
The summer is wonderful -- I love getting to wear sandals, and not wearing long johns and itchy hats. I love not having to shovel snow and defrost my windshield. Summer brings with it wonderful options. River running, fishing, bike riding, horseback riding, hiking and camping – all fun stuff. None of them give me the same feeling of freedom that sliding down a mountainside does. Live would have been easier if I’d been addicted to bowling maybe, something that can happen all year long anywhere in the world.
Yeah I've read the Eastern literature, live in the here and now and such. But my ski habit pulls me only one way. Towards the Winter, towards sharp mountains softened by snow.
Soon we’ll be able to smell Fall coming, still a mile or two down the road, but making its presence felt. By mid-September we will wake every morning to that extra little cool in the morning air. We will be greeted ever often my little dustings of snow on the peaks, melting as fast as you can take it all in. Town will grow more quite, awaiting the one last burst of frantic energy during hunting season. Then on to the big snows.
This is the time of year when I pull out old ski videos, pictures and trail maps. It sometimes helps, sometimes it makes the last bit of waiting even more tortureous. Fortunately I'm not yet showing the worst symptoms of illness. I have not yet started to tune any of my skis, or (oh the shame!) fondle them. I am not yet dragging innocent people into extended conversations about skiing. Its an easy monster to tame right now, just a little bit of ski footage now and then. Soon though it will go out of control.
I know the pattern well now. By the end of September my addiction will be taking over. All exercise I do will be geared towards skiing. The fourteen pair of skis (a sign of illness in themselves) will be getting meticulous care. Friends will scatter as I approach, striving to avoid having to talk more about skiing. Ski clothing will be coming out to get washed and receive fresh layers of duct tape.
I used to go for opening at Keystone every year, usually second or third week of October. Its an ugly place to be, everybodys addictions are layed out in the open. Its a day when other fellow sufferers come out of the closet and rush lemming like for the first chair of the season. Then everyone skis wild eyed and on the edge of control down the one narrow run of man made snow. Its a day when the lift lines become European in their impatience, and line etiquette becomes a mixture of martial arts and unique vocabulary. I'm going to resist Keystone this year, and wait for Wolf Creek to open, but just talking about it makes my will grow weak.
Yes the illness is coming out of remission and the dreams are back. But during my nap this afternoon the dream was different: I saw myself standing at a podium in front of a strange crowd. I looked nervously out at a sea of gore-tex and duct tape. I smelled melting wax and heard sharpening files rasping among the audience. Some people resolutely sitting and staring forward in a display of will power, the only clue to their illness being the brand names on their clothing. Others sheepishly working at full tuning workbenches, guiltily glancing up now and then. I cleared my throat and began "Hello my name is Todd, and I'm a Ski Addict. I last fondled my skis four months ago......"
Todd Murchison is a freelance writer, professional skier & computer technician. As an enthusiastic member of the Poverty Jet-Set, he bounces between Pagosa Springs and New England seasonally.