New Yorkers don't get the kind of great skiing I'm used to in Canada - Hunter and Wyndham mountain (in the Catskills) are the closest ports of call, but they're usually overrun by snow-desperate New Yorkers. So Sarni, Megaphone, Wonderland and I schlepped all the way to Vermont for some high-quality mountain action over MLK weekend. Despite our dabbles into snowboarding, we all opted to ski - thus fulfilling east coast stereotypes, as LB pointed out.
We had a great time - the snow was plentiful, the runs were long, and the scenery was crystalline and Narnia-esque. I really tapped into my inner-Lindsay Vonn and learned to ski really fast (okay, fine, faster than usual). I even took a (small, tiniest of all) jumps.
Check that out. How can you look at that and NOT want to strap long wooden slats onto your feet to coast down the mountain at high speed?
I went to "anonymize" our faces in these last two shots, and then I realized that I didn't really need to. I'd be surprised if our own mothers could recognize us in these getups. In our defense, it was minus 25 degrees Celsius on our second day of skiing. (That's "butt-cold" in Fahrenheit, by the way.)
I really do wish, however, that someone had told me how creepy I looked with my sunglasses and face warmer on.
Vermont. On Canon Powershot.
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