Can a mom of two who lives nowhere near a mountain ski 30 days this season?
Here’s my life: I have two teenage kids, two dogs, and one very demanding business. I get up each day around 5:30 a.m. and hit it hard. I go non-stop until after dinner when I collapse into bed and prepare to do it all again the next day. I live on the eastern tip of Long Island, six hours from a mountain and two hours from a major airport. I’m claustrophobic and hate crowds.
And I’m an addicted skier.
I didn’t start skiing until my late 20s. I had a childhood full of figure skating, which translated pretty well to the slopes, and by the end of season one, I was hooked.
Hooked on the outdoors and the crystal clear mountain air.
Transfixed by the way fresh snow hangs like sugar in the pine trees.
Addicted to skiing’s physical challenge, uniquely combined with its exquisite feeling of freedom.
Determined to unravel the intricacies of the perfect turn.
Since then, some seasons have been better than others. There was that four-day women’s only ski camp at Vail, and one year that saw two trips out west and two long weekends in Vermont. There was the year before kids when we had keys and open invitations to three different homes in Vermont. There was the Park City food tour and a week in Vail when it snowed every night and each morning we awoke to a bluebird day.
'The Year of Fun'
But free time is scarce. Business is busier and more demanding than I ever could have imagined. My kids, who love to ski, have this pesky thing called school. And SATs. And college applications. And competitive sports. There is the expense, and the time, and the sheer hassle of getting to a mountain when you live near the ocean.
Last year I buckled. I skied just three days. And one of them was so icy that I skied two runs and stopped for fear of disaster. I ended the season frustrated and disappointed. “I’m 53,” I railed, “how many seasons do I have left?” (I obsessively look for skiers in their 70s, trying to convince myself that I have decades left in my quest for the perfect turn.)
Now it is October and ski season is around the corner. Vail Resorts gifted me an Epic pass and my husband reminds me regularly that “it takes work to have a good time.” I’ve declared 2019 the Year of Fun at Macaroni Kid.
And so I ask: can a hard working mom of two, who lives ten minutes from the ocean and six-plus hours from the nearest mountain, ski 30 days this year?
We're about to find out! I invite you to follow my quest on Instagram through @mackidmamabear or by using the hashtag #30skidaysformom.
