Okay, maybe bust isn’t the best word to use for skiing. (That’s Ryan, by the way!)

It was day one at The Canyons Grand Summit in Park City and we were antsy with excitement, visions of conquering moguls and maybe landing a sweet jump or two danced seductively in our heads.  First things first: Shannon, Scott and I had ski school to ace, and it didn’t take long for it to become painfully obvious who the newbies were.  Departing the gondola, I strutted my snow boots and schnazzy onesie, heading impudently to the colored flags indicating we had arrived.  I hit the icy mound in my boots and without hesitation, slipped right back down.  I tried again, then again.  This was a pathetic start to my snow bunny image.  The ski patrol spotted me like a deer on the first day of hunting season and eagerly came to my rescue.  Hello boys!  I’ll have to admit, this was not a bad way to start my morning.  Little did they know, I would prove to be the least of their worries!

By noon we were refueling on pork sandwiches mountainside and convincing Scott that we were ready for the big time… a green run sprinkled in with some blues (crazy, I know!).  We were bored with the “Sweet Pea” training hill and quite frankly, bored with our Australian instructor.  The accent, however, I totally dug. So, we did like any audacious adult-in-denial would do – we cut class.  Following Ryan’s lead, it was only moments into our first run that it became evident, this was a bad move.  Sick and exhausted, Scott kamikazed down the mountain… on his hind.  If he wasn’t sliding, he was walking down the steep slopes with boots strapped and digging fiercely into his shins.  Being the only first-time skier in our group, he was defeated and I thought for sure there was no way he was going back.

Well take “Ski School Day Two for 100” please!  How I underestimated my husband.  Unbelievably, Scott was back and ready to conquer this beast.  Slowly but surely, it started to click, and by the end of the day he was rockin’ it.  It was pretty awesome.

The last few days of skiing we joined up with Ryan and Shannon to take in this experience as we originally planned, together.  Arriving at the top of the mountain we exited the lift as the wind ripped through us, whisking the fresh snow off the surface of the mountain, exposing the rigid ice below.  With the exception of Ryan, we were all in agreement, “The Easy Way” down looked pretty dang good.

We needed a break and we needed a beer, so into town we went to quench our palettes and maybe catch some wandering stars in early for the Sundance Film Festival.  Before we knew it, conversations were being halted and our attention quickly shifted.  As if the sky had suddenly opened and released it’s bounty, snow flooded down on us in the streets of Park City.  The kind of snow that makes you want to throw your arms up in some sort of evangelical appointment of worship.  The kind of snow that makes you gaze up into the heavens, as if you could see the place in which it fell, beams of street lights shining down upon you.  In a word, it was beautiful.

At 8:30am the next morning, the ritualistic thumping once again began.  The steady beat of ski boots marching down the halls, drawn in a robotic-like haze towards the ski lifts.  This was the signal that it was time.  Geared up with more poof than Dolly Parton, we joined the army in it’s decent; ski’s, poles, gloves and hats in hand.  The doors opened and as the crisp frozen air hit our faces, new life was breathed into our tired and sore bodies.  The weather was perfect, the snow was perfect.  It was our last day of skiing and we were gonna make it count.

With the exception of knowing how to ski, nothing could have prepared us for this day.  The weightlessness of our bodies as we shred through the mountain, the silence of the terrain leaving only the schwoop, schwoop, schwoop of our skis, distant thoughts lingering and the mental chant of planning the next downward move.  A hard right turn and we were on a 10′ wide path to a place not easily forgotten.  As we descended, we came upon the twisted clearing.  Cradled on all sides by giant firs and pines, there was something intensely spiritual about this place.  We were all alone, and in a moment of awareness, it became evident how small as beings we really are.

As Ryan barreled through a passing stream from his black diamond shortcut of sorts, he came into the tree clearing, falling at times waist deep in snow.  “Laura, do you want to do snow angels with me?” Shannon called out as we watched and waited.  Just like that, our skis were popped off and we were falling, seemingly in slow motion, backwards into the snow, swinging our limbs in angelic form.  Snow ball fights soon commenced and as we tried to keep our balance pouncing in and out of the soft snow, we successfully catapulted handfuls of ice at our attackers.

It was time.  We boarded the plane, still on our high from the pristine mountain air and powdery snow that freshly blanketed our drive to the airport.  As we stole every last ounce of the spectacular views from our rectangular porthole, detox set in.  Shiny black roads formed seemingly thin and fragile veins in the vastness of white.  Overwhelmed by the beauty and experience we just shared, tears streamed down my face as I said goodbye to this lovely land.  Maybe it was because I was so touched our dear friends invited us to join them on this magical adventure.  Maybe it was because I wasn’t finished taking in each surface and texture and thought and feeling.  Maybe I was succumbed by regret thinking about that shot I missed from the ski lift, looking down on the naked aspen, the quick glimpse of sun casting shadows in dramatic accord across the glimmering snow below.  I wanted to relive it again, but it was just a glimpse.  I sucked it all in, I was full and fulfilled but in sheer gluttony I wanted more.  And at that moment I realized, I am living this life, truly living it.  The fire is alive.

What amazing people we have in our lives, friends who exceed the very meaning of the word, defining a new category of love.  What amazing opportunities we’ve gotten to experience with them, to cherish and thoughtfully tuck away in our memory boxes, in hopes someday to tell our children about.  To show them this life we live and how to live life and what is good.

How lucky we are that all these people and experiences and things together make up our life, one pretty sweet life.

Suggested Listening: Crash Into Me / Dave Matthews Band