(Last Updated On: June 4, 2014)
I grew up on the plains of Ohio, skiing on tiny hills that didn’t even rise to 300 vertical feet. Most of our snow was man-made, and moguls formed as walls much larger than me. Yet, there, at 4-yrs old, I began my love affair with skiing. I remember being yanked uphill by the rope that towed us beginner skiers. We were little saplings and could barely hold on. One kid would fall, and all the rest of us would tumble on top of him, as if we were stars in a Warren Miller bloopers scene. My tiny ski area had more ski lifts than ski runs and could be seen in its entirety from the parking lot. Frankly, it’s a miracle I grew to love this sport. But, sometimes, I think, it’s just engrained in your blood.
Frank’s first day on skis was a treasure. It was at Vail and his father, Phil, put him in a ski lesson as most good fathers do, and then went skiing on his own. “We’ll take a run together at the end of the day,” Phil said. But, then something happened. It snowed. It dumped as a matter of fact. The day turned cold, snowy, and miserable. So, when Phil returned at the end of the day, he removed his ski clothes, assuming Frank would be ready to go home. Little did he know that Frank stood on the deck with his goggles on, waiting for his father to take him for one more run. He couldn’t get enough of all that powder.
So, I ask you – What brought you here? How did you begin your love-affair with skiing? Don’t be afraid to share your stories with us. We’d LOVE to know 🙂