Warning, this post will not wax poetic about the joys of running. Nope, today I'm going to talk about how much more I love skiing than running. Yesterday was my first day on the slopes. I went alone. It was cold and windy. There were only 3 top to bottom runs open. I loved every minute of it. Putting on my boots (and snow pants, and jacket, and head sock, and helmet, and goggles, and gloves- running does require way less gear I will give it that) I was practically giddy.
At the top of the mountain before my first run I looked out over the White Mountains of New Hampshire and savored the view for a few seconds, and then I was done savoring. I was there to move, not to stand still and enjoy the scenery. I ski fast. My first run, and every run after that, I had a huge smile on my face, as I sped down the mountain. I love making big swooping turns, getting way over on my edges. It is the closest I'll ever get to flying. When I'm skiing, I get this intense happiness that I rarely get anywhere else.
I was trying to figure out what it is that I love so much. The speed and the motion for sure, but I think it's more. When I'm skiing I don't have time to think. I am going so fast that it requires complete concentration. I'm the type of person whose mind never shuts off. So those few minutes of downhill are like a vacation for my brain. I arrive in the bottom with a racing heart, a frozen face, and a refreshed mind. Ski on.
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