success and the art of skiing

argh. now that i'm managed to extricate my feet from some of the most intense binding i've ever subjected them to, i'll fill you in on the secret to doing anything and getting anything you've ever felt was out of your reach.
while Gem did a fabulous job of teaching us the finer points of retaining our dignity while hurtling down Snowshoe's slippery slopes, he left out the one thing that would get us from awkward beginners to workin' it alongside the best of 'em: it's not about what you know, and it's not about how much skill you possess. god or no, to do and get anything you've ever wanted in and out of life, all you need to do is have confidence enough in yourself that you can. doesn't matter how foreign the situation may be, if you believe you can walk in there and own the place, not many people will a. dare to tell you otherwise and b. stand in the way of someone who knows what they're doing. it's the same with skiing - if you've got minimal technique and refuse to be afraid (which inevitably leads you to make stupid mistakes) while maintaining that no matter how fast you're going, how steep the incline is, how deep and powdery the snow you can and will negotiate it all and come out on top of it all. and that's truly all it takes. i know, i know, it seemed ludicrous to me too, but that truly was the sum total of the thinking that went into my maneuvering down the 45 degree inclines and narrowly missing any number of trees, turns, and forks in the road that became blue trails. but the first time i satisfactory negotiated my way down, at a good clip and proper technique, that ride down was blissful to the last. i knew what i was doing not because i knew what i was doing but because i believed i was in control.
skiing is so fucking blissful. rounding those turns, feeling the wind sting your cheeks as you cruise downhill at breakneck speeds, how your heart speeds up as the wind shifts and all of a sudden your path is completely obscured by flurries from the powder on the ground and the snowblowers to either side, sucking in a deep breath of fresh mountain air and snow flakes after a particularly satisfying run because all your oxygen has come in short pants for the past three minutes - that's when you remember to breathe. and say fuck it, i want more adrenaline instead, and go back for more.

::grin::

i mean, i know this is M.O. down to the t, but still, one should never cease to wonder at the understood. makes it that much more precious.
we'd been sitting in the pizza place for close to half an hour without any sort of service when, without prompting, he laid down his hand of cards and left the table, abandoning the guys in the middle of the game no less to tackle the near-impossible task of finding a waiter to procure the iced tea i had dragged him out of the warm comforts of our hotel bunks into the -17 degree Celsius weather with our entire cadre of fellow travelers and therefore having no hope of getting a table at any of the three eating establishments within the resort perimeter in under an hour to get. he went to the counter, found the manager of all people, and came back without so much as a smug grin, his genuine intentions the only emotion lighting his perpetually scheming eyes. he sets it down before me and picks up his cards as if nothing had happened. finishing the hand, he thanked the guys for their hospitality and we made for the exit.
i felt the need to immortalize this here because i can appreciate the gesture not just for its rarity, but for the thought involved in bringing to fruition such a sparse but sufficiently grand gesture. a few actual brownie points to the garbino camp - who'da thunk it?