That's Just How We Ski, New York-Style

So the primary benefit of having bucketloads of snow dumped on NYC (besides the two seconds of prettiness before the snow turns into unrecognizable mush) is that those of us who like to brave bitter cold to slide down snowy slopes rejoice at the opportunity to do it again.  To that end, Sarni and I went up to Hunter Mountain (in the Catskills) for a day of skiing last weekend.

Here's a photo of Sarni posing just before we launch into some black runs.  Don't let the fact that he looks like he's skiing uphill fool you - the boy is a skiing machine.

Two things I have realized is that (1) different ski resorts really do not standardize their grading system for runs and (2) I am developing into an amazing skier.  Okay, the second thing is part of a delusion, but the first thing is totally true.  When we were at Killington a few weeks ago, I could really only handle blues and greens (Sarni, of course, with his infinite love of risking bodily harm, continued to ski double black diamonds).  At Hunter, even I skied some black runs, and I never went lower than a blue.  I guess that's what happens when you live in a state that's vertically challenged - they grade the runs on a curve.

As for that delusional second thing, I did find myself improving on both speed and form.  I skied parallel most of the time, and I continued to nurse my need for speed.  Unfortunately, this seemed to result in an inflated ego and the conviction that I could race down the black run with hardly any turns.  After nearly taking out an elderly skier, a child, and a medic, I had the following conversation with the medic:

Medic:  "Are you glad you finally came to a stop?"

Me:  "Yeah...I probably shouldn't do that run again."

Medic:  "No, you shouldn't."

Me:  "Wait, really?  Did I look -" (searching brain for modest synonym for "badass")

Medic:  Totally out of control.


Hmph.  I maintain that just because I bomb down the hill with a terrified look on my face doesn't mean I'm not in control.  Anyway.  He shouldn't have been wearing a big white cross on his back.  That thing is like a bull's-eye for speed demons like me.

Catskills (upstate New York).  On Canon Powershot.