The Coach

Lincoln Peak at Sugarbush on November 6, 2012

I made my first turns of the season this morning. It’s November 10th. Let’s pause and let that sink in for a moment. November 10th. With Sugarbush Resort’s planned opening not until next Saturday, this morning I stepped out of the door of my home in Ludlow and skied my old hill, Okemo, which opened for the season this past week. No, it has no bearing on how the rest of the season will go. No, it is not an indication of anything other than a particularly cold few weeks in November. No, the conditions were not particularly good and there wasn’t a lot of terrain open. But yes, it is November 10th. Amazing.

Some of the sights and sounds of the ski season are less poetic in the telling than others. We can wax on about the wind rushing past, the sensations of our skis, of gravity drawing us down the mountain, of our joints and muscles going through the tried and true movements of skiing, simultaneously getting the blood flowing and putting our minds and spirits at ease. And yet, these weren’t the things that made the day so familiar, such a joyful indicator that ski season has finally arrived after a long two months off of snow since my return from New Zealand (yes, I know, poor me).

Having changed resorts, changed roles, and changed perspectives, parts of the day definitely felt a bit odd. I parked in a public lot instead of where I have among the other staff vehicles for the past decade. I walked into the base lodge to change, carrying my equipment with me rather than merely walking empty-handed into the locker room. I spent the morning by myself, doing top-to-bottom runs on the only top-to-bottom run that was entirely open, trying to find my rhythm in the increasingly choppy man-made snow that formed a narrow corridor on World Cup. After two hours, in need of a short break and some perspective, I went inside the summit lodge, unbuckled my boots and removed my gloves and helmet in the same way that I have in that lodge a million times as though on autopilot. And then, like Pavlov’s dog, I headed for the cafeteria and without thinking about what I was doing, I grabbed a cup from the stack and filled it half from the hot chocolate dispenser and half from the coffee urn. The moment when I realized that I had been merely going through the motions without conscious thought occurred when the cashier asked me for my pass and I realized that I no longer received my employee discount at Okemo and would have to pay full retail. I guess there’s nothing like full retail to snap anyone out of a stupor.

Our olfactory memory is more acute than that of our other senses, no less so with my go-to hot drink on a ski day. The drink is most definitely not a mochachino – it is far more of a workingman’s choice than espresso and hoity-toity chocolate. I’ve always known it to be called “the coach”, though I don't know where that comes from, and it’s sort of the ski pro’s version of an Arnold Palmer. It consists of mass-produced coffee from a huge cafeteria urn with a spigot on the bottom and hot chocolate from a major manufacturer consisting of powdered mix and hot water whirled together in a big, automated dispenser. And its distinctive taste, the sum being something far greater than the whole of its mediocre parts, is definitely something that is inseparable from and evocative of my life on skis. And I love it, for the taste, for the sensation of drinking something warm and sweet on a cold day, and for what it represents.

Skiing is both my passion and my vocation. While that sometimes means striking a difficult balance and making tough sacrifices, I love it and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. As a consequence, when I’m not in ski season I can occasionally feel a bit lost, particularly if I’ve been working so hard on ski-related things without any actual skiing, as has been the case this fall. And today, with the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of the season returning in full, something deep inside of me relaxed, basking in the warmth of all that is familiar and comfortable in the knowledge that ski season is here. Finally.