Hypothalmus Abuse

At the moment, I’m sitting outside my home nestled in the middle of some very green mountainside woods here in Vermont. The sky visible through the treetops is deep blue and free of clouds, and the light breeze moving through the old hardwood trees sounds vaguely like gentle waves lapping at the seashore. The temperature is a near perfect 72 degrees Fahrenheit (approximately 21C), though it feels a bit cooler in the shade, and the loudest sounds apart from the wind are the excited calls of a wide variety of birds, all but hidden from view. Just to keep me honest, I can occasionally hear a lawnmower in the distance and someone does drive down the close-by dirt road from time to time, but like the occasional passing cloud these disturbances only serve to emphasize the gorgeous nature of the day.

I’m not some dime-store philosopher doing my Thoreau imitation in my own personal Walden, I’m not about to wax reverentially about the need to protect our precious environment (though I could), and I certainly am not about to break into song like a member of the Von Trapp family (though they did migrate to Vermont - “The hills are alive with the sound of music …”). What I am doing is making mental lists. Sitting in my favorite old beach chair being warmed by the summer sun, I am busy considering some very pressing and time sensitive issues: the benefits of thermal underwear, how many boxer shorts I need to live comfortably, whether I should have backup goggles, whether I should risk fitting chains in the mud while wearing my new down jacket, and the weight saving benefits of certain articles of clothing. Yes, I’m preparing to pack. For another powder-filled winter. On the other side of the world. In Wanaka, New Zealand and at Treble Cone.

I may be behaving like a lizard sitting on a rock in the sun, but I’m excited to leave it all behind in less than a week, drive to the big city, get on a huge plane, spend a lot of time catching up on the movies I’ve missed, use the Air New Zealand staff to restart my ability to understand Kiwis, all the while throwing my hypothalamus for a loop for a few days of serious jetlag. Long black, flat white, tomato sauce, fush and chups, and eggs on burgers. Ok, got it.

Yes, a week from now I’ll get slightly confused trying to cross the street, I’ll settle into my new home for the season, I’ll get up to speed on the rugby World Cup schedule, and I’ll be very excited to catch up with everyone and get our resort ready for another great season in the Southern Alps. In the meantime, I’ll bank as much summer in my subconscious batteries as I can so that in the dark days of yet another winter, I can remain upbeat, focused, and energetic, especially once I get over the jet lag. Ski season, here I come!