Not a good day for me at Blackcomb. Today my past got cozy with my present and they didn't really get along. I've never thought of myself as old or inept or untalented in any area. I try something, I usually succeed. I might not WIN but I keep up. Today, all I could think about was how I used to ski. Back when I was 15. Is that a fair comparison? No. But it didn't stop me from reminiscing how I once hit the hill with gusto and skillz. How I could ski all day, take any run, race and laugh all the way to the bottom of the hill. Trees? No problem. Moguls? You call these moguls. In reality, I did do okay for someone who's skied 4 times in 17 years. I should be proud of myself. But the hard, judgmental part of me said I should have picked it back up just like riding a bike. That my quads shouldn't be burning after 3 turns. My boots hurt, my skis are old. If I had better boots, better skis. But let's face it, I'm just old. I think that was the part that hurt the most. I've never considered myself old. Not until today. My knee is injured, I couldn't ski one run worth a shit, today sucked.

And that's why I spent two hours in the Glacier Creek Lodge. Listening to Queen, The Who and Canned Heat. Talk about old, Jesus. The 70's are still alive and kicking here in Canada, folks. I hear Mott The Hoople is up for a Juno this year. Hang tight.