Ski Journal Entry #27
It was a hard-fought 2,000 vertical feet.
Welch Village had just reopened after a brief shutdown from a stretch of warm weather, and I made a spontaneous call to head out late in the afternoon. No big expectations — just get some runs in, stay sharp, enjoy being on snow.
What I got instead was something else entirely.
The conditions were about as tough as I’ve seen this season. Icy in spots, chunky in others, and slushy where it mattered most — especially near the bottom of every run. It was the kind of surface that never quite commits to one thing, forcing constant adjustment. Add in low visibility and flat light, and it quickly turned into a grind.
And my legs? Straight to burn city.
Early on, something felt off. Not dramatically wrong, just… not right. I couldn’t quite find my rhythm. The turns weren’t linking cleanly, and that smooth, confident flow I expect just wasn’t there.
Then I found it.
At the top of the lift, I realized my right top cuff buckle was still set on the first notch — way too loose. I reset both boots to the third notch.
Immediate difference.
That tighter, more connected feel brought everything back into alignment — at least from a gear standpoint. It felt right. Really right. One of those small adjustments that sticks with you.
But the snow wasn’t about to cooperate.
The bottom sections of each run were the real test. That’s where things broke down into a messy mix of slush and chunks, grabbing at the skis and throwing off timing. Combined with the low visibility, it made every turn feel reactive instead of intentional.
The fundamentals — balance, edge control, rhythm — weren’t automatic. Not gone, but definitely not dialed in.
And that’s when the quads really started talking.
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Looking back, maybe I didn’t warm up enough. Maybe I wasn’t hydrated enough. Both are possible. But to be sure: the conditions were legitimately tough.
At just over 2,000 vertical feet, I made the call to shut it down.
Not out of frustration, but out of awareness. Some days aren’t about pushing through for big numbers. Some days are about recognizing what the mountain is giving you — and what it isn’t.
And still — it was fun.
Because no matter what, I was out there. Skis on. Moving downhill. That part never gets old.
There were wins.
The warm-weather wax choice worked exactly as it should — smooth, consistent glide. And the boot adjustment? That might be the biggest takeaway of the day. I’m genuinely looking forward to building on that setup next time out.
Spring skiing is here.
Which means adapting. Letting go of expectations. Learning to ski whatever is in front of you — even when it’s inconsistent, messy, and unforgiving. Staying patient when things don’t click.
Next up will likely be Afton Alps, assuming conditions hold. And this time, I’ll be ready — not for perfect runs, but for whatever version of “challenging” shows up.
There’s still a possibility of chasing better snow. A trip out west. Maybe up north to Lutsen. Options are on the table.
But for now, this one goes in the record book as it is:
Not my best day.
But still a day on skis.
And that always counts.
