As a kid, I had a particularly fanatical approach to making sandwiches. Often on Sundays, my grandparents would visit and spend the afternoon. The inevitable meal which was the centerpiece of the day invariably involved deli sandwiches. We’d have an enormous array of meats and cheeses, a selection of breads, the usual lettuce, pickles, coleslaw and potato salad, and condiments which included an oddly wide variety of mustards. While the other members of the family made quick work of putting together their favorite combination and set about eating it, I’d design, plan and build an elaborate and carefully constructed sandwich over what must have seemed to my siblings to be an inordinate amount of time. Some condiments, in my eight-year-old brain, were far better on the bread side of cheese or on the meat side of it, some worked well next to lettuce and some didn’t, and there were considerations for which meat and cheese went in what order, which mustard complimented which meat, and whether pickles, coleslaw or potato chips actually went on the sandwich or merely accompanied it. Looking back now it is a bit disturbing and, I am certain, excellent fodder for teasing from my friends. For me, it was simply the very serious process of creating a great sandwich and then eating it. Perhaps I should consult a Tibetan monk about whether this constituted some sort of gastronomic mandala – an elaborate painting made from sand painstakingly for days only to be swept away when completed.
What on earth could my childhood Dagwood sandwiches have to do with skiing? Layering, that’s what. We’ve just completed a very busy holiday period here at Okemo and we’ve had some challenging weather in this stretch. In the last week of 2008 and on New Years Day in particular, Vermont really bared its teeth with some very cold, very windy weather. On January 1st, the temperatures never really climbed above zero degrees Fahrenheit (-17.8C) at the summit and the wind chill factor stayed in the -25F (-31.7C) range all day. Couple this with the fact that our uniform jackets in the Okemo Ski + Ride School are, well, old and require us to dress as though we’re not wearing them, and our layering takes on a whole new level of process.
Given the way our schedules work with private lessons during busy periods, full-time instructors frequently are out in the cold all day, seven hours a day, with few if any breaks. So, out of necessity and experience, each instructor who has been teaching here for any length of time has a very specific and very personal system for dressing when temperatures plummet. What goes on first, what goes on last before the uniform, what gets tucked into the pants and what doesn’t, what layer gets zipped all the way up to the chin and what is left open and how much. Gaiter, face mask or balaclava. Boot heaters, talcum powder, chili pepper, toe warmers, boot covers, helmet covers, and even air exchangers are all fair game when it’s so cold our nose hairs freeze.
Once all the layers are on, the task of zipping the uniform jacket is the last remaining obstacle. Like the great rye breads and rolls at my parents table, over stuff the sandwich and the jacket won’t allow enough movement to ski, or to sit down on the lift for that matter, assuming one is able to zip it at all. It is not shameful but rather can be a source of pride to have to seek assistance in zipping one’s own jacket.
In the lexicon of the locker room, we call dressing for severe cold “going to the weapons”, and it definitely takes on the air of doing battle with the elements. One funny aspect of each instructor’s particular system for arming themselves for the cold is that we all have one layering system in reserve that we’ve never had to use. We call it the “nuclear option”. Once we go nuclear, there is no way to go back, so we make damn sure that conditions warrant that kind of escalation. One other funny consideration is the speed with which we dress. Dress too fast and you start to cook, leading to jokes about putting garlic, rosemary and olive oil inside the jacket to complete the roast. Peek inside the locker room at 7:45 on a weekend or holiday and you’ll see instructors lingering in their wicking layers and then rushing outside once dressed fully.
At the end of the day, with the right attitude and a sense of adventure (together with some very generous pro pricing from Patagonia and our friends at the local retailers), good instructors can make fun out of even the harshest of conditions. In the very worst case scenario, we can always tell jokes and swap stories with our students over a hot chocolate in one of the lodges. Perhaps that’s a rationalization, but it is all part of our shared experience and I wouldn’t trade it.
What on earth could my childhood Dagwood sandwiches have to do with skiing? Layering, that’s what. We’ve just completed a very busy holiday period here at Okemo and we’ve had some challenging weather in this stretch. In the last week of 2008 and on New Years Day in particular, Vermont really bared its teeth with some very cold, very windy weather. On January 1st, the temperatures never really climbed above zero degrees Fahrenheit (-17.8C) at the summit and the wind chill factor stayed in the -25F (-31.7C) range all day. Couple this with the fact that our uniform jackets in the Okemo Ski + Ride School are, well, old and require us to dress as though we’re not wearing them, and our layering takes on a whole new level of process.
Given the way our schedules work with private lessons during busy periods, full-time instructors frequently are out in the cold all day, seven hours a day, with few if any breaks. So, out of necessity and experience, each instructor who has been teaching here for any length of time has a very specific and very personal system for dressing when temperatures plummet. What goes on first, what goes on last before the uniform, what gets tucked into the pants and what doesn’t, what layer gets zipped all the way up to the chin and what is left open and how much. Gaiter, face mask or balaclava. Boot heaters, talcum powder, chili pepper, toe warmers, boot covers, helmet covers, and even air exchangers are all fair game when it’s so cold our nose hairs freeze.
Once all the layers are on, the task of zipping the uniform jacket is the last remaining obstacle. Like the great rye breads and rolls at my parents table, over stuff the sandwich and the jacket won’t allow enough movement to ski, or to sit down on the lift for that matter, assuming one is able to zip it at all. It is not shameful but rather can be a source of pride to have to seek assistance in zipping one’s own jacket.
In the lexicon of the locker room, we call dressing for severe cold “going to the weapons”, and it definitely takes on the air of doing battle with the elements. One funny aspect of each instructor’s particular system for arming themselves for the cold is that we all have one layering system in reserve that we’ve never had to use. We call it the “nuclear option”. Once we go nuclear, there is no way to go back, so we make damn sure that conditions warrant that kind of escalation. One other funny consideration is the speed with which we dress. Dress too fast and you start to cook, leading to jokes about putting garlic, rosemary and olive oil inside the jacket to complete the roast. Peek inside the locker room at 7:45 on a weekend or holiday and you’ll see instructors lingering in their wicking layers and then rushing outside once dressed fully.
At the end of the day, with the right attitude and a sense of adventure (together with some very generous pro pricing from Patagonia and our friends at the local retailers), good instructors can make fun out of even the harshest of conditions. In the very worst case scenario, we can always tell jokes and swap stories with our students over a hot chocolate in one of the lodges. Perhaps that’s a rationalization, but it is all part of our shared experience and I wouldn’t trade it.
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