My best friend’s wedding and a gross food intolerance (projectile, messy everything and everywhere) intervened with this write-up. Perhaps more current commentary would lend insight into how I am feeling in/closer to the moment. But allowing for some time to pass might not be such a bad idea as it allows me to see myself and the situation in a more objective light. For example, after my first day of skiing at Alyeska, I thought, this trip cannot be over soon enough. It was raining from the base to mid-mountain, and the snow higher up the mountain was super heavy, wet cement. I was on my wider ski which I had only skied one day on beforehand, is a lot more ski to push around and just being tossed about as my ski, outriggers and left leg got caught on what seemed like every turn/bump. The person I was skiing with basically offered nothing in the way of instruction, saying, I have no idea what I would do with one ski and outriggers. I thought, great. What. The. Fuck. I was close to tears by the end of the day, thinking that I just totally sucked and would never be able to ski any/all kinds of terrain again. Every one around me reassured me that these were very challenging conditions for everyone, not just me; and it is true, many people were falling left and right around me. But, as usual, I took no solace in this knowledge. The bottom half of the mountain consisted more of water-skiing back to the Challenge Alaska building. And, I also found myself quite stressed out by all the people around me, all the time, as I am introverted by nature.

At the end of that first day, I spoke with Jeremy, the director of the Adaptive Ski and Snowboard School at Challenge Alaska, saying, look, I really appreciated having someone show me around the mountain, but I had gotten absolutely nothing out of the day. I think he saw how glum I was. But, he also said, today was about you guys getting used to these conditions and me getting a baseline for where every one is at. He also said, I think it would be really helpful for us to figure out a system to hold your left leg up so that it is out of the way, you don’t have to waste your energy holding it up, and it also isolates your good leg so that it is completely free to move on its own (which eliminated my velcro between the knees idea). We played about with a piece of webbing looped around my left snow boot (Sorels) with a knot tied at the end of that, another piece of webbing threaded through a super dinky loop for the detachable braces on my ski pants and connected the two with a carabiner. Jeremy said, okay, lets go out and do one run off the beginner chair to test this out, just one run. I was in my boxer short pyjamas already, but said, okay, put my waterproof pants and jacket over my PJs, and went out. Well, that one beginner run turned out to be a bit longer, as we figured out how I could clip and unclip the webbing depending on whether I was getting on/off a lift (obviously, having my left leg free as I get on a chair is useful), but then clipping my left leg up as I started a run at the top of a chair. My left leg is a bit flaccid, so it takes some man-handling on my part to raise the heel back and high enough to clip it out of the way. It was certainly a very different feeling, but Jeremy thought it looked a lot better and asked if I would give it a try the following day. I agreed. I really appreciated him just taking a few runs with me at the end of his day.

The next day, Jeremy arranged for me to be paired with him for the day (I only later learned that his nickname, JAHA, stood for Jeremy Anderson Hard Ass – my kinda guy). The difference between my second day and first day were like night and day. Jeremy really knows what he is doing. We focused on just two things: (1) Flexion and extension at the proper place in a turn (and turn-shape – really finishing my turns), and (2) having my left hip open (i.e. facing down the fall-line) when I am on my uphill edge and letting it hang and do whatever when I am on the downhill edge. The first thing is simply a function of how tired my right leg is. The second is slightly trickier as I do not have good proprioception in my left leg/hip. So I would have to look down and see where my left quad is, adjust my core and weak left hip flexor muscle and recognize that sensation and remember it. We started off on the groomers and just did laps on that to work on these two (okay, maybe two and a half) things. We then progressed to deeper crud/off-trail stuff. Having my left leg pinned up when I stopped took some getting used to. My usual thing has been to just drop my left leg/foot when I stop; but obviously, now this results in a big THUD when I do so, and I also need to use my outriggers more to pole myself out if I am in a pickle. I was (and still am) a bit nervous about not having protection around my left knee (my usual left leg brace limits the range of motion); I will at least be wearing my old telemarking knee pads on that knee so that it doesn’t end up as messed up as it looks (hopefully not how it actually is, since I don’t have much sensation there).

My rolling ski bag *almost* doubles as a body bag.

Day Three was perhaps my best skiing day. The snow wasn’t super sticky/wet in the morning, but also not super deep (which I don’t have any familiarity with as a three-tracker). It was the Challenge Alaska Fundraiser, so the building was pretty packed. It was a really nice event to witness and be a part of, and see the wonderful community of folks. I had a mono-skier, Nathan, who totally rips, show me around the mountain. Nathan makes beautiful turns in all conditions, with great outrigger use; but, more importantly, just has a great attitude, it seems. He was living in Kansas to play college football, and was working some kind of job involving manual labour. A fork-lift accidentally dropped a heavy load on top of him and made him a T9-complete SCI. He did not ski before his injuries, and only took up mono-skiing after he returned to Alaska (after returning to finish college after he was done rehabilitating). Skiing with him was just like having fun skiing with any ski buddy. At the end of the day he asked, “How is your leg feeling? It must be so tired!” And this is a guy whose lower body is completely paralyzed! I was touched by that comment.

Saturday’s setting light. It was only just before 9pm here, and the clearest it had been in Girdwood, AK. It is hard to capture the steep, sick chutes and scale of these mountains rising up from sea-level.

Scott and I did are own thing on Sunday (Day Four), getting on first chair to take advantage of the cooler mornings and lighter/less heavy snow. I was happy to be on our own as I appreciate the solitude and not being around people all the time. Being pretty much at sea-level, Alyeska gets this very thick pea-soup fog that rolls in; but conditions really seem to change from minute to minute. I became more proficient at clipping and unclipping my left foot up below my butt. Even though when Nathan and/or Scott helped me I would joke, Man, I’ll try not to fart, being independent here is (psychologically and otherwise) very important to me. I do not want to have to rely on having someone around to help me with lift-served terrain.

Here I am, looking like Kenny (ala South Park), as usual. My left leg is dropped down because I have not clipped it up while we are standing around. I only clip it up when I am skiing.

Outriggers flipped up

There was some uncertainty over whether my deep snow skiing abilities were good enough for me to get on the heli-skiing on Monday. It was clear that my deeper snow skiing abilities had improved considerably since my arrival at Alyeska, but the question was, had they improved enough? I am probably the least confident person in my own abilities, and the last thing I want is to be a safety liability to others. This is something I am very conscious about. But folks who had been with me skiing decided that I was a go. The party was going to consist of two able-bodied skiers, and myself and another one-legged skier (Vasu Sojitra). A restless Sunday night and Monday morning were spent feeling very ill with nervousness.

Clear skies were a rarity on this visit; unfortunately, the moon did not allow for Northern Lights sightings this one clear night.

Monday morning was the first clear morning of our entire trip. It looked like the weather gods were cooperating and a heli-skiing weather window was a possibility. Chugach Powder Guides gave a good safety orientation early Monday morning and we were on 10am weather standby. The standby was pushed to noon, then 1pm, then 2pm. All the while, we skied in-bounds at Alyeska in order to warm up/get our skiing legs (or leg, in my case) under us, but also not get so tired that we would be totally gassed for heli-skiing. At 2pm, CPG ended the standby and cancelled all trips for the day. We were only slightly bummed. On the one hand, it would have been an amazing experience. But, I had gotten a lot out of this trip already; namely, devising and iterating a new system for getting my gimpy leg out of the way, and improving my skiing in challenging conditions. Plus, next year I will be a better skier and be able to ski more challenging terrain and snow.

My soul-patch under my lip from the numerous face-plants

My last runs of the trip did not end on a good note. I was tired, perhaps from that day as well as the accumulation of five days of skiing in heavy snow and the repeated tumbles with a very high DIN setting on my bindings, really hurt my (good) knee. Before, I used to be of the mindset that it was important for my right ski not to release if I fall, because retrieving a ski is more difficult for me these days. Now, I am a firm believer that wrecking my good knee isn’t worth it; I will be dialing my DIN setting down to something a bit more appropriate for my weight (say, a 6 – which is very aggressive for someone weighing 112 lbs – instead of an 8!) In any case, I was, yet again, in tears, as I gingerly skied through the slush back to the Challenge Alaska house. We had a reservation at Jack Sprat, a fantastic restaurant in Girdwood, that evening; and, like Gijon, I had to actively go against the voice in my head that said “You do not deserve this meal.” :( For anyone in Girdwood, I highly recommend the restaurant.

A lovely stroll along the meadows between the Challenge Alaska house and the Alyeska Hotel

I was particularly impressed with a blind member of the Paradox crew. I was very curious about how he had adapted to going about daily life being blind and asked him all sorts of basic questions. I became aware of the term “lights out”, which means that a person is completely blind. His active pursuits were impressive; say, kayaking the Grand Canyon. But, I was even more bowled over by the fact that he had raised three girls as a single father. That is the ultimate in bad-assery, in my opinion.

One cool thing is that Scott learned a lot from the coaching I was receiving, even as someone who skis with both legs, and his skiing improved as the trip progressed. The morning of our departure, as we were looking up at the north facing headwalls at Alyeska, Scott said, to go from falling off a green chair-lift, to skiing black diamond runs in Alaska and possibly heli-skiing (save for Mother Nature) in three months, is pretty incredible. I am inclined to agree with him, despite my initial dejection and disappointment with myself. While this disappointment stayed with me even a few days after my return from Alaska, looking back, I can say that I got a tremendous amount out of the trip, including meeting some wonderful people in the Paradox crew and the Challenge Alaska volunteers. Fingers crossed, I am very much looking forward to a return visit next season.

I am sitting at Chicago’s O’Hare airport passing the 4+ hour layover, en route to Anchorage, AK. While skiing in the Chugach is a wonderful opportunity, I was/am having all my usual anxieties around air-travel, pain, and what five days of skiing will do to my body.

Air-travel just plain sucks for every body, I know. But, the effects of extended sitting in an airplane seat, and even at airports, are not pleasant for me. The back pain blows. Even with diabetic compression socks, my left foot/leg in particular swells up, the neuropathy is aggravated, and my foot/ankle mobility on that side worsens considerably – all making for sleepless nights and even gimpier gimpiness.

I am also worrying about the back-pain that arises from skiing. The lack of free, un-fused vertebrae to absorb impact is problematic, and I am also worried about not being good enough to heli-ski because my left leg catches in deep snow. I am hoping these are problems that can be solved before we go heli-skiing (if that indeed happens). The original plan was to go cat-skiing, but rain/lack of snow at the base made this a non-option. I also have to be super-light on my outriggers, because I have developed nerve pain in my hands from that and am now sleeping with a hand-brace at night to help alleviate those symptoms.

I know this trip is meant to be FUN. But, as usual, I am placing pressures on myself to ski “well”. I am sure it will be a wonderful experience. But, this does not stop me from fearing the physical effects during and after the trip, even though I know fearing pain is the worst way to deal with pain. It induces a terrible cycle of fearing pain, fighting it, making the pain worse, and so on.

I also have not climbed regularly/at all since the start of ski season. I know the training cycle is just that: a cycle. While I enjoy training, starting from “scratch” always feels crummy. The story of my life…

I was not anticipating skiing three days in a row, because I had not expected snow conditions to be that great, and I also did not expect to have the endurance or my back to hold up to all the bumps and impact. The journey to Montrose, CO (the closest airport to Ouray and Telluride) was a stressful one. The connection time in Chicago was extremely tight; I am much more aware of such things given that I cannot sprint from gate to gate anymore. Despite the delay in taking off from Boston, my connecting flight was also significantly delayed, so my baggage and myself made it on the plane just fine. Unfortunately, a storm had rolled into Montrose, reducing visibility to distances less than FAA regulations. After circling above Montrose for awhile, our flight was diverted to Grand Junction and after a period of uncertainty, we were finally bused down to Montrose as the snow was really coming down. Fortunately, I did not have to drive very far as I was spending the night with a dear friend who happens to live in Montrose now.

The next day (Monday) was spent shoveling and resting from the day of travel, as air-travel is very uncomfortable for my leg and back.

The storm had made for great conditions at Telluride, so I drove up early on Tuesday to connect with Telluride Adaptive Sports, who had kindly hooked me up with lift-tickets for Tuesday and Thursday. My original plan had been to just ski by myself. Although all my skiing pre-accident had been done out West and I was very familiar with these kinds of conditions, my experience skiing as a three-tracker had been on East Coast ice and hard-pack exclusively. Thus I thought it would behoove me to receive some instruction on what to do with my outriggers and skis in Western bumps and snow conditions.

Being able to not ski with a full-face balaclava, and take off your gloves without getting frost-bite, was a joy for me, given my poor experiences with the bitter cold in New England resorts.

I am really glad I signed up for the half-day lesson and had someone with a tremendous amount of experience offer me advice on how to ski in deeper powder. It turns out that my outriggers, which had been sized when I was still skiing down mostly groomed moderates, were far too long on steeper terrain/bumps. I saw a photo of myself with them and that really highlighted how inappropriate they were for me. For reference, my instructor is 6’3″, 6’5″ in skis and boots, and my outriggers fit him rather well. So that was a very useful piece of information.

Here I am figuring things out in deeper, softer snow (apologies for poor media quality):

You can see just how overly long my outriggers are. In spite of this, I was on bumpy black runs pretty soon after. I will be replacing my current outriggers with a shorter pair.

As I got into deeper snow, my left foot kept getting caught in the snow, causing my hips to rotate out and things quickly going to shit after that. One idea I have is to stick heavy-duty velcro on the inside of my ski pant legs, so that I can lock my legs together but pull them apart with enough force. Guess I’ll be vandalizing a pair of ski pants when I return home.

Bumps are getting higher, although in this run they are  fairly widely spaced apart

I learned a lot in a short period of time. In bumps/moguls, being super light on the uphill outrigger is key as is anticipating the turn, looking for where to place your downhill outrigger (not my ski), and facing down the fall line, obviously. As I tire, I tend to lean on the uphill outrigger more, which always ends poorly.

I was pretty gassed by the end of the day, as I had skied a bunch on my own in the morning, and had my three hour lesson in the afternoon. But I had learned so much from Mike, my instructor, that I wanted to take another half-day lesson with him the next day. Tuesday night was spent eating a lot to compensate for my lack of calories during the day, inhaling a lot of Aleve, and just trying to recover for the next day.

Wednesday was a skiing highlight for me. I got down my first legit (legit in that it was long, steep, thigh/hip high bumps) double-black run as a three-tracker, while my legs were still fairly fresh, and bombed down a steep, but groomed, double-black run…all in fairly good style, I think. At one point, a group of German-speakers asked me “What is this??” That was amusing. I received quite a few compliments from them and other folks, which was nice for the ego.

This double-black run will always have a place in my heart

Again, I thought I would not ski the next day given how tired I was. But, when I woke up on Thursday and saw the new snow and clear skies, I thought I could not miss these conditions that are not found on the East Coast.

My legs were not fresh as they were yesterday, but we still got a fair bit of mileage in on steep, bumpy, un-groomed black and double-black runs. The difference in gear requirements is quite apparent between the East and West. While I had gotten a very stiff boot to deal with East Coast hard-pack, and thinking that I had to be totally locked down in my boots because I was only on one ski, I need to soften things up and play around with the flex in my boot for Western conditions. Having a wider and softer ski will help too. There are also attachments you can add to your outriggers to give them more floatation in powder:

I was fortunate to have the company of Danika, a woman I had not known well before this trip, but had invited me to stay with her, after we had connected at last year’s Paradox Ouray event. My original reason for arriving earlier than the start of this year’s Paradox Ouray weekend, was to help Danika give ice-climbing instruction to a group of veterans from Alaska. The group did not end up coming; thus we had time to ski. It’s funny…I would never say my accident was a blessing, and I wished it had never happened. But, it did open up many wonderful people to me that I would never have met – Danika is one such person.

I am really looking forward to helping Danika guide a blind-climber tomorrow. I am sure I will be saying all sorts of cringe-worthy things to this fellow. For example, it came up that Danika had never met him in person and only chatted over the phone. I asked, Oh, have you guys Skyped? Face-palm. I recall doing something similar with a quadriplegic woman. We met and my first instinct, which I followed, was to extend my hand out in introduction. And then I immediately thought, Oh God Wendy, you’re a fuckin’ idiot.