No Gnar, Just a Simple Ski

I listen to my iPod while I climb the trail on my skis. Someone is reading a philosophy book in my ear in a gravely voice to distract me from the two-mile ascent. I find that listening to something complex and provocative lessens the searing of my lungs and the incessant internal chatter that says “Dear Lord. I’m going to die.” When I get to the top of the trail, I turn off my iPod and it is quiet. It’s not just quiet. It’s silent. I stand for a moment and listen to the small and gentle sounds that I bring to this hushed place in the forest: The zipper on my pocket, the rustle of my nylon snowpants, the tinny clatter of my ski poles bonging together. It makes me feel all at once tiny and gentle but magnificent and powerful, too. The...

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