Wardrobe Malfunction

Some days you’re just on it. Confidence pours into your boots and your skis become scalpels dissecting the gnarliest gnar with precision and ease. As far as I know there is no time-proven recipe for producing these days of prowess. The one time-proven lesson, however, is stay humble. Once you sense your helmet getting a little tighter, pull over and deflate your ego. If you don’t, there will undoubtedly be some stroke of fate to knock you down a few pegs… as was illustrated so perfectly for me today.

Popping out onto Gros Ventre from the aspen grove off Slalom, I dropped into a speed stance. The day had been a hardcharging huckfest, full of tight trees and exposed lines. Last night’s one inch became a canvas, and I the master artist. Now barreling down GV, I could smell the gusto seeping from my pours as I careened by pizza-cutting gapers. Catching my breath at the gondi line, I bobbed my head to the Rocky anthem playing over my mind. Then someone tapped me. “What happened to you?” she said, chuckling. “What do you mean?” “I mean what happened to your pants?” I spun my head around. Somewhere along the line, my pants had suffered a gaping wound. From the top of my back belt loop to the front zipper, a conspicuous tear waved in the wind, revealing my sweat-soaked skivvies. It’s amazing how quickly that will steal the wind from your sails.
-Z