The feeling of my toe solidly in place and the resistance on my heel until... it just clicks. Visually the image runs through my brain daily, or even twice, from June until late October. I can see it happen like an out of body experience, I can hear it... that heavy click that connects boot to binding, like the subtle mechanics of the shutter of my camera, the tool of the artist in place. I can feel it. I feel it in every part of my body like the muscles, tendons and bones of my legs, back, shoulders, they were born to step into bindings. Weird I know.
In late October I start to dream of it. In November the muscle memory floods my conscious and sub conscious. If I haven't stepped in by December I go into overload. This simple action breathes meaning, passion, purpose into my life.
Today was my day. I pulled my boots on like I had taken them off days before, perhaps after dropping into something ballsy then eating shit at Kicking Horse. I felt energy for the first time in weeks. Like some one had plugged me in after letting the battery run too low. I finished kitting up and finally went to step in, the moment I clearly had been waiting for all season. Low and behold, the spots for my boots to click into were flipper sized. If you know anything about me you may know my nick name is little foot. It speaks to my hoof sized feet. Clearly the handsome and witty boys at Ski Cellar had cleaned my bindings but had neglected to put them back where they needed to be. Sadly in that moment there was not boot to binding love for me.
Fortunately it was a stunning day and being the overly solution focused person I am went to get them adjusted at the rental shop.
There are three things, other than boot size, that someone adjusting bindings needs to know.
1) how much I weigh
2) how tall I am
3) how well I ski.
Without even a moments hesitation I let my ego step right up. I lied about all three. Now, a word of warning when it comes to lying about things that affect how your skis pop off when they need to PLEASE don't exaggerate your lie or you WILL get hurt. eff. So, back to the story, without a moments hesitation I told the very nice and reasonably handsome boy that I weighed 5 pounds less than I do in reality, I mentioned I was half an inch taller (really!! WHO CARES!) and told him I was a pretty good skier. I think he sensed I was full of shit and asked if I felt comfortable on any of the black runs here at Nakiska. Realizing he was about to give me a lighter din setting that was probably necessary for what I intended to ski this season I replied that I was very comfortable on the double blacks at Kicking Horse, within reason of course. The funniest thing about this whole situation was the acknowledgement that my ego is always there, even when I don't need to be, even when it makes NO SENSE. It was such a poignant moment. There is always work to be done on this.
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