Days 282-288 – Spring Skiing

After a couple of days at Walt’s sister’s house in Denver – where we did laundry, sorted out our cold-weather gear and had dinner with his youngest niece and her husband – we’re now in a condo in Breckenridge, ready for a little spring skiing.

We’ve been told that the snow’s not great but we’re not worried. At 10,000 feet, this place gets so much snow that “not great” is still far better than the time we went skiing on manmade slush in Virginia a few years ago.

We start out on a green slope that we skied last year so that I can get re-acclimated to skiing. I’ve only been skiing for a couple of years while Walt’s been skiing for more than a decade. He also has the advantage of being athletic while I’m a nerd. Don’t let the hiking fool you: I am known on the trail for being fairly klutzy and I don’t play “sports” while Walt played competitive basketball for most of his life.

At the top of the first run, my body has no idea what to do. I am swerving, my skis are going in opposite directions. I manage to stay on my feet, mostly because the slope is gentle. Walt stops a ways down the slope to wait for me. I finally lurch my way down to him, fairly convinced that I’ve forgotten how to ski.

Walt calms me down, tells me to take it slowly and by the end of the run, I have regained a bit of control and confidence.

We stay on the green slopes for a few runs before heading off to the blues, which are not only steeper but so much longer. It’s a nice, sunny day and we’re very much enjoying ourselves.

After about four hours, we call it quits for the day, grateful for the proximity of our “ski-in” condo to the start of the lifts.

Despite all of our hiking, we find ourselves not as prepared for a full week of skiing as we would like and wind up taking off every other day to let our muscles (quads!) relax. I spend Tuesday shopping Main Street’s fun little shops and we spend Thursday watching the Masters golf tournament.

It’s a great week of skiing, punctuated by golf-watching and some good meals.

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