Lady in waiting
Everything changes; everything stays the same
I have a confession to make. I don't want to go skiing.
I really don't know why this is the case! I don't even have an excuse. My good friend Tom is in town for a week or so, with his former protege and that dude's girlfriend. The three of them are out on the Spearhead Traverse - as I write this, they're probably planning their approach to town, snagging side runs and rejoicing in the glorious snow. It's gorgeous out there, I imagine. We've had two solid weeks of consistent snowfall, and today is the prototypical example of a bluebird powder day. Or I can guess that it is. I really wouldn't know.
Tom was staggered when I told him how little I've been up. Passing around a bottle of tequila in his van, I admitted that I've only skiied about ten days this season, and just a single one on resort. “But you live here!” he sputtered, through a mouthful of fiery liquid.
“I KNOW!” I replied. “But I was sick, and then there was no snow, and… I guess I've just been feeling so depressed and tired, it feels like so much hassle even to put pants on. I don't know. I'm taking a mulligan on the season, I'll try again next year.”
In truth, I've barely ventured past the safe little orbit of work, groceries and sleep. Lot 4 is my nearly permanent home. On a mission to find new climbing pants this weekend, I struck out of my comfort zone and realized that it's been over a month since I even got near the gondolas. Restaurants and shops on the village stroll were foreign to me, and I'd forgotten that one of my favourite bars even existed. There's not much to do here in winter besides drinking or skiing - I have no interest in either pursuit, and so I've been holed up in my bedroom/couch space, nibbling on pitas and avoiding my chores.
A med change is part of it. I'd gotten so used to my regular dose that I didn't notice when tolerance crept up on me. Stimulants are like that, there's no way around it really. Week by week, more symptoms of withdrawal and unmedicated disorder presented themselves, and I started to feel ineffectual and lazy. I couldn't have said what the problem was, except that all I wanted to do was sleep. Finally, the prescription came up for renewal, and my doc noticed that I'd been on the dose for a while and asked if my symptoms were bothering me. I'm cautious about it - he gave me a trial increase for a month, and I've certainly noticed a positive change, though it's not without side effects. I might need to change medications entirely, if they don't fade in a week or so. It's mild stuff - an initial difficulty getting to sleep, some headaches, phantom itches and sweaty skin. I'm not even at a high dose, it's just that my constitution is sensitive. So we'll see. It's been almost two weeks now, and I was hoping I'd feel motivated to ski, but while I can hyperfocus on writing and I'm doing better at work, I still don't want to manage the rigmarole of getting dressed and hauling equipment over to the lift.
If I could snap my fingers and be fully dressed at the top of the mountain, I'd be utterly delighted to be out there, I'm sure. The few times I've managed to go up in the past weeks, I ended the day with a giant smile and the fresh glowing feeling of an endorphin rush. It's not that I don't enjoy the activity! I am fully, painfully aware that I need tons of exercise to feel okay, and that my sluggardly habits of the past two months are the result of inactivity as much as the cause. But it's just so hard to get going, with all the minor irritations of suiting up and standing in line taking over my brain.
I was supposed to go today. I spent all day yesterday psyching myself up to go rent some touring equipment, just in case the touring group I'm in decided to ski Oboe after the powder off Symphony Chair got tracked out. I didn't make it to the shop, despite absolutely no obligations on my time and being parked three minutes away from the rental center. Selecting a pair of skis, setting them up for my boots, interacting with the co-workers I barely know and don't often see, finding the right skins and safety equipment and getting a pack ready to go - it all just seemed like too much effort. I messaged the groupchat and told them I'd ski resort with them in the morning, as the skis I already own aren't set up for touring. They were stoked - the forecast was beautiful and everyone was excited to go get some epic pow. I felt the faint stirring of excitement in myself, and went to bed early so I could meet them on time at the summit cafe.
I was up at seven today - plenty of time, as we weren't meeting til 9:30. I read some of a book and dozed, trying to drum up the energy to get out of bed. It's still cold in the mornings, and I hadn't bothered to chase down my baselayers so I could sleep in them ready to go. And I'd have to find my good gloves - where were they? And my skis, I'd have to pull them out of the tangle of shoes and jeans on the floor. And then I'd have to walk allll the way over to the gondola with my skis on my shoulder, tramping down the stroll like a tourist instead of just parking next to the Blackcomb midstation at Base II, since we were meeting on Whistler and Peak to Peak wouldn't be open. No, I didn't want to go. The clock ticked later and later, the groupchat pinging as my friends confirmed the plan.
“Sorry guys, feeling under the weather today. Have fun!” I signed off with relief, shuddering as I imagined dodging through the tourist crowd in my still-stiff, barely used Gore-Tex, brand new boots rubbing blisters into my ankle as they broke in. And now? It's 1pm, and I still haven't moved. I've got water and a grocery bag full of snacks on the couch-side of my bed, a knot under my shoulder blade from two entire days plunked down in the same position. I'll have to get up and move tonight before I get a ticket for illegal overnight parking, but after that, I'm going straight back to bed. Another mulligan today, and I don't even feel guilty.
I spent the morning re-reading my hiking posts, instead of working on video editing or nailing down next year's permits like I was supposed to. But I have to go to the library to do that, for the wifi, and that presents exactly the same obstacles as getting ready to ski. I'd have pull out my laptop and chargers and cords, wrangle my headphones, and put on pants and a clean shirt with the cold floor under my feet. It's not so cold in here actually - with the spring sun's increased thermal energy, the van has warmed to 20°c, and I'm overheated beneath my winter sleeping bag in underwear and a t-shirt only. Even so, I probably won't go. I've eaten nothing but some stray pita bits and a squashed muffin, done nothing more productive than rescue stray push pins from the bed beneath my bulletin board. My van is kind of depressing right now, but I probably need to shower before going out in public, and I don't want to face the raucous tourist din. So I'll read in bed and take an extravagant nap or two, decide where I'm sleeping tonight and consider swinging by the quieter gym. I'm daydreaming about the end of May, when the snow will be melted and I won't need to make excuses for the desire to lounge by the lakeshore. Constantine will be here then, for two weeks of rest between his FKT attempts and the start of the GDT (assuming I pull the permits together). We'll doze in the hammock, and I'll wear nothing but wrap dresses and bikinis, and never have to find my shoes. Waiting, waiting, waiting. This winter has been just like the last one, in a way. Less objectively awful, but still. All I want is the trail, and summer.
What I'm Listening To:
There's a pair of crows scuffling about on my roof, complementing the drip-thunk of snow coming down as it melts. I always forget that they do this - they like to be the highest thing around, and I imagine that my black solar panels feel nice and warm. It never fails to startle me, the thud! of a large bird landing on fibreglass over my head. I always think that a tree has come down, even if I'm way out in the parking lot expanse of concrete.
I'm not so much depressed as wistful these days, an overwhelming nostalgia for desert smells and tent-based living. I want the structure of the trail again, a clear direction to go. I want to feel that powerful hiker hunger burning through my cells, rather than just eating cause it's lunch time and I suppose it's the thing to do. Here's a song I've been listening to a lot recently, which I may use for a Whistler video if I ever summon the motivation to go outside and get some shots.
Talk soon, and take care
-Magpie