I get that.
I could barely figure out how to put my skins on, never mind how to move forward.
But it had snowed.
Not like a foot or anything, but enough that the plow guy had come and I had to shovel.
Actually, I probably could have just blown it away.
That kind of snow.
The fluffy, gorgeous kind that you can never get enough of.
I had to go.
What kind of ski bum would I be if I didn't?
Oh I soooo shouldn't have.
The only food I had managed to keep down over the past 24 hours was a yogurt, simple white crackers and a few sips of flat ginger ale.
And that had only been recently.
I was kinda wobbly.
I was more than a bit fuzzy in the head.
I was going skiing anyways.
The best choice.
Cause when you are completely dehydrated, going on a four mile solo ski tour through the Vermont woods is definitely the safest choice.
It was all I could do to slide one foot in front of the other, barely moving forward but advancing just the same.
Minutes turned into really long minutes.
I should have been out of the woods by now.
Then my brain completely zoned out.
I saw trees.
I saw snow.
I saw snowshoe hare prints.
I saw everything.
I did not see my spirit animal.
But I am pretty sure I was close.
What I should never have done was ski down.
In gloriously gorgeous powder.
Through the trees.
In gloriously gorgeous untracked powder.
I will admit that might have been a super dangerously bad idea.
Who am I kidding??
Today was freaking awesome!!
I am a ski bum.
I should always ski.
May You Find the Spirit of the Mountains Within You, Merisa