I fell while snow skiing in Italy two years ago and nearly ruined one of my knees. My recovery was long and painful, but as soon as I could I got up on skis again.
My husband, children and I have spent every free moment we have found over the last month skiing. We live in the county of Colorado that opens its ski resorts before anyplace else in the US. We skied for my son's birthday on October 12th.
As I was skiing down the mountain earlier today, I thought about why I do that. Why on earth do I go flying down the mountain with a very screwed up knee and 40 years behind me trying to keep up with my children and husband?
The truth is that there's just something about the feeling of the wind on your face and the sound of the snow beneath your skis. There's something about it that lets me forget every single other thought in my cluttered head, and makes me feel free. Even makes me feel young. And there's that moment when you arrive at the top of the mountain, and get a glimpse of a landscape so breathtaking, so majestic, that you wonder how you could ever live without seeing it.
It's the air and the sun and the cold, all creating a feeling of being so clearly and undeniably alive, that you get addicted to it. Like I am.