Our home ski mountain is a small area with one main lift. You are bound to know people in the lift line because it’s such a small area. Usually, you identify your friends by knowing something specific about their snow gear – the helmet, the bright jacket, whatever they wear regularly.
So I was standing in the back of the line with a couple of my kids and someone at the front of the line was waving wildly and shouting hello back to me. She was dressed in a full snowsuit, plus ski hat, neck warmer, and goggles. There’s not much of the human to see.
I said to my kids, “That person seems to think she knows me. I don’t have a clue who she is.”
The kids answered, “Mom, that’s your sister.”
(It was. In my defense, she has a lot of different outerwear.)
Another story is from possibly the coldest day I’ve ever skied. My kids had a ski race at Killington mountain (in Vermont). It was -16 Fahrenheit at the base, but the ski races carry on, regardless of the weather. So two of my kids, about 8 and 10, were riding on a triple chair, with their friend who was 9 in the middle spot. It’s a ten to fifteen minute ride to the top. They were completely covered, including face masks, helmets and goggles, but they still didn’t want to move.
They got near the top and my oldest said, “I’m frozen solid. I can’t move.”
The youngest said, “I’m frozen too.”
The oldest said, “Erin (the friend), aren’t you cold?”
“Erin fell off at the bottom,” reported the youngest.
The oldest hadn’t even noticed. You just don’t move. You freeze and you suffer.
(Erin was rescued by her dad and my husband who were following the kids on the chair lift.)
Then you stand near the top of the mountain waiting for your turn to ski down, doing the run as fast as you possibly can. Why is this fun?
It just is. It’s a great family sport.