My own personal olympics

I'm on vacation this week. Skiing in the Rockies, if you aren't on Facebook (otherwise you'd know - or you might gather that by looking at the photo).

It's something we do each year, my family and I. Sometimes a few more, sometimes a few less of us.

I'm not the greatest skiier -- I learned in my teens, I guess. But I never did much after that. Not until I started up again about 10 years ago. I tried, briefly, snowboarding. Two bruised hips, black-and-blue wrists and lessons later, I wondered why I bothered. Why put myself through the agony when I already knew how to ski?

So I bought the skiis. Online, cheap. And boots. And out I went.
It's been a long haul, this re-learning. Finally, I'm doing little baby jumps. Each time, I get a huge thrill: "WHOA!"

Everyone knows when I'M getting a little air.

I know I'm pretty crap at it. But every time I get a little bit better. And when I stop to look around at the gorgeous snow-covered mountains and listen to the deafening silence, I'm so glad I'm doing this. I'm winning my own little gold medals every time I go out there.