Spring has sprung, summer sizzled and, finally, autumn is upon us. That can only mean one thing. I don't know what that thing is but ignorance has never been a barrier to an in-depth discussion of anything, has it?
Astronomically, we've crossed the boundary and entered the springtime of death. Leaves have stopped making chlorophyll and started making colours other than green. Red fish are filling streams and churning the tranquil waters of Sulfuric Lake, waters that have become cold enough to make summer's swimming a distant memory.
With our psychological clocks socially altered to view autumn as a beginning rather than an end — a pernicious holdover of all those years we resigned ourselves to trudging back to school after Labour Day — those of us who no longer trudge but do live in ski resorts begin to think of one thing and one thing only. Because I'm too kind to try and pull that "I-don't-know-what-that-thing-is" twice, I'll tell you what it is: ski season.
Ski season is coming and that too can only mean one thing. Getting tiresome, isn't it? OK, I won't keep you in suspense. What that means is one way or another, sooner or later, each and every one of us is going to have to face the inescapable question: Am I in shape for ski season?
It's hard to crack open a ski or snowboard magazine this time of year without being confronted with our own failures. You know what I mean: 10 Tips to Get in Shape for Ski Season, or some such drivel that more appropriately belongs in Cosmo or some other fatuous magazine designed to make you feel totally inadequate. Heed their spurious advice — and let's not forget, that piffle is written by people like me — and you'll wind up spending hours at the gym, running like a fugitive being chased by blood-thirsty hounds and torturing your core until you can't bend over to buckle your boots or bindings until sometime in January.
Unless you're already in shape, it's enough to make you move south and take up golf for the winter, a "sport" requiring absolutely no shape at all. If you're already in shape though, you're probably not wasting your time reading this; you're more likely out on your bike or skipping rope from here to Pemberton and back. Whatever, buffboy, the advice that follows isn't for you.
But if, like many of us who've enjoyed a few too many patio days and your "shape" is all in your head, take heart, you're in almost perfect shape for skiing and riding. After all, skiing and boarding are all about the downhill rush. Gravity is the engine; your body's just the brake. Master these no-sweat exercises and you'll be in perfect shape for another sliding season.
But first a word of caution. Don't fall for the go-to-the-gym-and-train-like-hell advice. I did that once. I hired a personal trainer. She fired me after two sessions, saying something about professional ethics and how my overall fitness level probably wouldn't sustain a prolonged game of Monopoly, let alone ski touring. I showed her... even though passing Boardwalk and Park Place did leave me winded.
So if you really want to be in shape for ski season, try these simple exercises.
Take a Pass. Spending a winter in Whistler without a season pass is like spending a winter in Moose Jaw without Prozac. Actually paying what WB is asking for a pass is not only impossible for many of you, it's your least best option. Snagging a job — and I use the word advisedly — that comes with a pass is your goal.
That may be easier this year than in recent years. Since the government over-reacted to the Royal Bank hiring Lilliputians to gut their IT department earlier this year, hiring foreign workers has become more expensive. Their loss is your gain... assuming you're not a foreign worker yourself or are otherwise unemployable, for example because you look like one of the unfortunate chaps featured on Bad Ink. The only thing scarcer than good workerbees are virgins to sacrifice to Ullr, so practice looking both shocked and hurt and throw that look at any potential employer who isn't ponying up at least half the price of your ticket to ride.
Practice Patience. Don't laugh; it's harder than you think. Pour yourself a cold beer. Don't drink it. Seriously. Stare at it until it reaches British pub beer temperature. Let it get warmer and flatter. Told you it's hard.
Why? Patience, Grasshopper. The only certainty of early season riding is this: There's a rock with your name on it out there, covered with a metre... or perhaps a millimetre of snow. There's no way to tell when the mountains first open. Do you feel lucky, punk? Practice patience; save the bravado and banish the word huck from your vocabulary until the deep snows of December... January... February... whenever. Crutches and reconstructive facial surgery in November suck.
Line Dancing. Hey, isn't that old whatshisname 20, 30 or 100 people further up this endless lift line? Better go say hi. Oops, wrong guy. But as long as I'm already here.... Line dancing is an art that'll serve you well on-hill and off. Ooze into a ski school group and avoid the long wait at Peak chair on a powder day. If the instructor notices, say, "I lost my group; they were headed to the Peak. Can I join you?" But watch out for snowballs from everyone else who didn't read this. You're too special to wait in line.
Take the Bus. Being picky about your line down Flute is smart. Being picky about what you eat on the mountain is just expensive. Circle the cafeteria like a buzzard looking for carrion. Choose a big family with small children, maybe two families. Watch attentively until appetites flag but plates still overflow. Offer to bus their trays, you big-hearted lug; they don't know it isn't your job. Eat without fear; if they had anything contagious, they wouldn't be up there freezing their toes off.
Get Religion. Après, you près, we all pray for.... Après is part of skiing and riding; buying your own beer is just admitting failure. Pick a table full of revellers with fresh beverages. When one heads for the bathroom, make your move toward the empty chair. With your empty glass in your left hand, extend your right hand in friendship to some random dude at the table and loudly say, "Hey! Bill, isn't it? We met last year, remember?" Apologize profusely for the misidentification then back away, leaving your empty; taking the full one belonging to the poor sap in the bathroom. They'll never notice; that's why God made drunks.
Master these exercises and your season will shape up nicely.
