This past Sunday, on my drive from Vancouver to Whistler (British Columbia, Canada), I stopped at an organic juice bar to get a fruit smoothie. I told the guy at the counter that he’s lucky being so close to a fantastic ski resort and asked him how often he skis or snowboards. He said that when he was “young”, he went all the time, but now he’s “old” and doesn’t go any more. When I immediately asked him how old he was and he told me “twenty-four”, I started laughing….
The night before, my family threw me a birthday party in Vancouver. We had all flown there for my birthday. I was having a lot of fun. When the cake arrived, there were two candles on it, a “4” and a “7”. I never really think of my age. I’m usually pretty centered and try being in the moment. But somehow that “47” staring me in the eyes did something to me. I felt “old”.
Two days later, while on the peak of the Whistler mountain, I asked a guy in his early seventies to take a picture of me and my brother-in-law. When he was done, he skied down the very steep and packed with moguls (bumps) double black-diamond “The Couloir” run. He was not the only “older” man on the mountain. There were a few fit men and women in their late sixties and seventies.
For two days, I gracefully skied down “single” black diamond runs. I guess I’m aging gracefully and hopefully in thirty years or so from now, I’ll finally be able to do the double black-diamond runs! 🙂