ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER…

A year ago I posted a blog called White Out. It described life’s whiteouts (there were two kinds) as correctional fluid and, to lay it out simply for you, horrible, horrible fog. The latter, is the type of fog that strips you of your ability to see and makes your stomach churn. Fog that turns terrain you said minutes ago you could “ski blind,” into a nauseating roller coaster of doubt. Fog that makes you ask yourself if you didn’t notice a rock face, cliff or giant gulley in the middle of Cougar Milk, a blue run you have skied almost every Sunday for the past 13 years. Fog that turns even the best of skiers into snow plowing toddlers who think that taking their goggles on and off a few times is going to help them see. Fog that makes you want to get on your hands and knees so you can confirm where the ground is because somehow in the last 30 seconds your foundation went missing.

Of course, on the last day of The Vertical Feat, the universe wanted me to be smack in the midst of that kind of fog. See for yourself (pun intended):

But in this blog, my last one for The Vertical Feat (as my writing efforts will be traveling elsewhere) I don’t want to discuss skiing in fog. What I want to talk about is living in it. You see at some point (or many points) in your life you will be saying to yourself, “I don’t know what direction I’m going in, I don’t know where I am going to and to be totally honest, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

When you find yourself there, as I did multiple times throughout this journey, just keep putting one foot (or 4,161,823 in my case) in front of the other. Trust me, what you can’t see one moment will become clear in the next. And if my advice isn’t your cup of tea, take Steve Jobs’, “It is impossible to connect the dots looking forward. You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. Because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well-worn path.”

I knew in my heart and my gritty old gut that I was supposed to embark on The Vertical Feat. I didn’t know why, for the most part, I still don’t and my guess is that I’m not going to find all that out for some time. I know that right now in my well-worn heart and my tired little gut I am where I am supposed to be. I am happy, I am proud and I know what I did was something bigger than a bundle of airplane tickets and some skis.

Where I go after this, what dot will be the next to connect, I haven’t a clue. That part is still foggy. But soon enough and likely accompanied by a breeze full of night blooming jasmine, there will be a clearing. For right now, I am content sitting in the thick lazy air.  I am certain, that if I stand confidently at the lakeshore of my life the next stone for me to step upon will surface, the fog will lift and my journey, the one that started with a ski trip around the world, will continue, it’s end getting further and further away. 

You know you are on the right path when the end of your journey gets further and further away. – Joseph Campbell

Steph looking back. Zermatt, Switzerland. February 2011.I cannot thank you enough for reading, supporting, cheering and skiing with me around the globe. I will be forever grateful to all of the people who waved "pom-poms" of various forms wildly in the air.

Yours very truly,

Steph

Chairwoman of The Bored

STATS 101…

I had to take a statistics course in university. It was part of my degree. I thought I would banish stats from my life as soon as the year 2001 faded away but ten years later I am recalling how many people in the class seemed to be enjoying the lessons and how useful stats are to my brothers as they scream at the television during the playoffs. So, for the sake of those who are hungry for facts and figures here they are:

Total vertical feet skied: 4,161,823

Number of days skied: 161

Average vertical feet skied per day: 25,850

Amount spent in lift tickets: $9,988.94 CAD

How much money I borrowed from my parents to complete the feat: $0 CAD

Number of continents skied: 5

Number of beds slept in: 65

Number of flights boarded: 31 including one helicopter

Estimated number of hours of flight related travel: 340

Yes, but you still need to unbuckle. Blackcomb, Canada. May 2011.Amount of vertical feet skied in the southern hemisphere (season 1): 1,030,099 (or 19,076 per day skied)

Amount of vertical feet skied in the northern hemisphere (season 2): 3,131,724 (or 29,268 per day skied)

Pairs of boots used: 1

Pairs of skis used: 4

Pairs of skis lost: 1/2

Number of pictures of Restraining Device signs: 14

Height of Mount Everest (from sea level to peak): 29,029

Equivalent number of Mount Everest descents on skis: 143

Most vertical feet skied in one day: 63,923

Most vertical feet skied in one week: 294,452

Number of resorts skied: 45

Number of massage therapists, chiropractors and physiotherapists visited: 9

Favorite phrase learned: Yuki ga futte iru…or “It’s snowing” in Japanese.

Number of falls so big I was shaken: 3

Number of times I yelled, “Hallelujah, Praise the fricken Lord!”: 1…it was yesterday and it was only in my head.

TUNED IN...

Just in case you missed it. The team at CBC's Early Edition must have been paying attention because they nailed the opening song!

HEY THERE PARTNER…

I set out on this journey and it was a solo mission. There were lots of cheerleaders, coaches and fans but I was the center, the quarterback, the wide receiver and if you could see me now, you would confirm that I ended up being the tight end too. I was responsible for the snap, the throw and the catch.

When you set out to win this kind of game and accomplish something big, something you’ve never done before, well, let’s just say you don’t always know what to pack. I didn’t know I would need seven different nutritional supplements. I didn’t know I would want a bigger budget for emergency phone calls and emergency steak dinners. I didn’t know a lot of things I would need when I started and to be honest, I still don’t.

The best chairlift partner in the world. Deer Valley, Utah. March 2011.Throughout the last nine months I have been given many gifts. The universe and I seemed to work out a pretty good system of it providing me with exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. Things I forgot or simply didn't know I would need. About three weeks in, I was sent my biggest gift, something I hadn’t packed, something I didn’t know I would need. You see, I had prepared a pretty good offensive line for The Vertical Feat but the universe knew I was missing a defense so a defense is what I got. It came in the form of a mountain man.

This man went on to become my linebacker, my tackle, my end and my safety. I didn’t know what this journey would require, the toll it would take, the energy it would consume, the ways I needed to change or the permission I needed to give myself to fully and powerfully rush forward and pour into my future. Poor thing, he didn’t even know he was coming along for the ride.

That said, he has pushed, pulled, nudged, shook, unshook, encouraged, dug, hauled, dug again and dug deeper with me for nine months of my blood, sweat and shit loads of tears.

Chris, I needed you and didn’t know it. Now I do. I will be forever grateful to whoever and whatever plopped you down on the chair across from me at an Argentine steak house. You are (and much to my own disbelief, I am going to steal words from Alanis Morisette) the best platform for me to jump beyond myself. You are my partner and I now know that as long as I pack you, things will be just fine. Thank you.

PS I also think you’re hot.

QUOTE ME ON THIS…

I’m not speechless very often (ask my friends) and in most situations I can find the right words. I’ve also learned that what I have to say isn’t and shouldn’t be the final word unless it involves my dwindling supply of Easter candy and my nieces.  So, for a change, I thought I would leave you in the hands (and words) of others.

Mother nature's spotlight. Kicking Horse, Canada. April 2011They change all the time but here are some of my most recent “favorite quotes”:

• To venture causes anxiety, not to venture is to lose one’s self…and to venture in the highest is precisely to be conscious of one’s self. – Kierkegaard
• There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires. – Nelson Mandela
• Venture in the slipstream between the viaducts of your dreams. – Van Morrison
• Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to be? Your playing small does not serve the world. – Marianne Williamson

So there you have it. I hope you find them as useful as I have. 

PS I thought I would slip another one in there because…well, I just can’t help myself.

• All women must resist the urge to live their lives as cucumbers. Submerge yourself, jump in, be a pickle. Pickles are much more complex than cucumbers. Nobody every changed the world with one toe dangling in. So go ahead, sit in the juice. – Steph Jagger 

BASE CAMP…

Gloves have worn out and skis have been lost. My infamous banana pants were badly stained, shredded and then officially torn. But there’s something that made it, day in and day out.

As of today I have skied a total of 157 days. Every single one of those days I have pulled the same shirt over my head, the same socks over my toes and the same leggings over my growing thighs. My Icebreaker base layer has made it, day in and day out.

My Icebreaker gear, hanging out after another tough day on the slopes. Whistler, Canada. April 2011.Due to its outstanding performance including the ability to deal with rain, sleet, snow or heat I am changing its formal title to Base Captain. Additionally, after outperforming any other sweat-soaker-upper and pit-cooler-downer out there I am sending a request to Pat Benatar asking her to permanently change the song Heartbreaker into more of a dedication tune called Icebreaker. I’m thinking something like:

Icebreaker, cold-breaker,

Heat-shaker, it don’t mess around with me.

Icebreaker, don’t make a base layer mistaker

Merino-maker, for wool’s saker, Icebreaker!

I’m sure you know by now that I could go on. Let’s leave it at this: I have worn the EXACT same Icebreaker base layer for 157 days (and counting). It cooled me when it was hot and it heated me when it was cool.  And lastly, although I am ashamed to admit this, I haven’t always had access to laundry facilities so my gear gets washed about once a month. That’s one scouring for every 18 days of skiing. I don’t know where the sweat and the more sweat and the additional sweat goes but I am not lying when I tell you that you wouldn’t be able to smell the difference between day one and 18. Seriously, come and smell my pits for yourself. The stuff is like a self-cleaning over for crying out loud.

So tomorrow and next day and the one after that…I look forward to sliding into my Icebreaker layers.

BARELY SPRING...

It's May. In all my life, I've never logged a foot during the month of May but today I slid down over 36,000.

It's May. In all my life, I've never logged a "top to bottom" foot during the month of April (never mind May) but today I skied from the top of Seventh Heaven to the Blackcomb base, nary a rock to dodge. 

A strapping young man enjoying "spring skiing". Blackcomb, Canada. April 2011.It's May and up until today it's hardly spring skiing out there. Barely a bare patch to be seen. That said, some brave sir thought winter was over and decided to strip things down to the bare essentials. Dare I say this? "Bottoms up, fine fellow!" I just hope he slapped on some "bun-screan".

I love spring skiing and I love it even more when it is still winter in May. There is 40 centimeters in the forecast for the next five days. You know where I'll be and don't worry, I have at least one layer more than the gent in the photo. 

Now, where on earth did I leave my zinc, because something's gotta go on these cheeks?

THE ORIGINAL…

Proof that a happy dance can be done on skis. Whistler, Canada. April 2011.There is something to be said about the originals of this world. Don’t get me wrong, I love Michael Bublé, David Letterman and high-speed quads but Sinatra, Carson and a good old-fashioned t-bar on an empty hill are, and always will be, the real deal.

Four million vertical feet was my original goal for this trip. That’s why tonight, after spending the day crossing the four million milestone, I will be celebrating originals. So here’s to guys who still send flowers, Dad’s Cookies, rear entry boots, Juicy Fruit and the way it moves you and people like Princess Di.

Then tomorrow, I’ll move on, log some more feet and prepare for this journey's ultimate finish line. What do you think? Should I crank Cher, Madonna or Lady Gaga?

Incoming!!! My niece and I on the final stretch. Whistler, Canada. April 2011.PS After my five and seven year old nieces helped plow me across the line today something hit me. Although I have a long way to go before being called “an original” I watched with glee as their little fists started grabbing for the helm today. 

LITTLE SINGING BIRD...

Fact: three of the ten countries I have been to on this trip have been english speaking. Why does that matter? Let's just say that it's easier to chat with the stranger sitting next to you on the chairlift when you at least share a native tongue. 

Fact: chairlift rides last anywhere from five to twenty minutes. Why does that matter? Well, if you are skiing alone that can add up to anywhere from two to five hours a day where you have extremely limited forms of social interaction and entertainment at your disposal. 

Fact: I do this quite often (see video)...to this song...sometimes even when people are sitting beside me.

Enjoy, because I certainly did.

THE CULTURE (SKI)CLUB…

Who didn’t like The Culture Club? So take them but remove Boy, the heroin, the physical and verbal abuse and add snow, mountains and even better karma. What would that make? An amazing ski-club that met me all over the world, Tumbled 4 Me and then got back up only to promptly ask, “How much vert did we do today?”

This is my official shout out to the eight people (almost nine if Leathley gets his behind to Whistler this week) who skied with me on more than one continent and in multiple countries throughout this trip.

1. Mombo in the Peak to Peak. Whistler, Canada. March 2010.Sheila (CAN) – my mombo (A.K.A. the sweetest, most loyal lady on the face of the earth). My mom flew across the ocean and skied “fuu-resh pow-da!” with me in Grand Hirafu, Hanazono and Happo-One in Japan. She has also cruised with me multiple times this year on Whistler Blackcomb’s Ridge Runner.
2. Brian (CAN) – my dear old dad. Pops pulled out all the stops (or at least a few of them) and skied with me in Grand Hirafu, Hanazono and Happo-One in Japan. Additionally, we have shared the Wizard chair numerous times since I’ve been home.
3. Sefi (IL) – the man who rolled out the red carpet when there was barely any white. Sefi hosted me at his hotel, Principe Delle Nevi, located in Cervinia, Italy but when Europe’s ski season turned to hiking, he followed me to North America where we ripped down Whistler Blackcomb, albeit in a Canadian blizzard.
4.  Ricardo "El Doctor" dissecting powder. Jackson Hole, USA. March 2011.Ricardo (BR) – the first and ALMOST the last. Ricardo was the first person I skied with on this trip in Portillo, Chile and bless his soul because he saved mine in Jackson Hole, USA. Ricardo, thank you for going out of your way to support me.
5.  There seems to be a problem with your new goggles. Salt Lake City, USA. March 2011.Chris (USA) – you had me at Peuma Hue. Chris skied with me at Cerro Catedral, Cerro Bayo, La Hoya and Cerro Castor all in Argentina. He served as guide in Alta and speed demon in Deer Valley, USA. Chris recently joined me for the 2011’s busiest day at Whistler Blackcomb where I declared him the best chairlift companion EVER. Oh, and Chris tried to ski with me in Japan but we thought playing pachinko would be a better use of our time.
6.  Bryce (CAN) – who knew I would bump into another Canadian while tramping through the mountains of Patagonia? Bryce skied with me at Cerro Catedral in Argentina and went out of his way to make sure I had a partner to climb with in  Whistler Blackcomb’s Spanky’s Ladder. Thanks Bryce!
7.  Veronika (CAN) - Veronika my guanaca! Veronika I want you to know that you make me a better skier. I enviously watched her peel down mountains like a pro in Cerro Catedral and La Hoya, Argentina. Then, she welcomed me to Chamonix France and Leysin, Switzerland where she lent me a bed along with her friends and family.
8.  Happy as a Tree at Happo. Happo-One, Japan. January 2011.Tree “the Parliament Funkadelic” (CAN) – when Tree thought we hadn’t seen enough white stuff in Grand Hirafu, Happo-One, Hakuba 47, Goryu, Hakuba Iwatake, Tsugaike Kogen and Cortina Kokusai all in Japan, she ordered more and flew home for a record snow week in Whistler Blackcomb. Whether she knew it or not, Tree saw me at my closest to quitting, if it wasn’t for her grabbing my skis and pressing on, giving the tiniest gap to breath in, I would probably be in geisha boot camp right now.

Ok, so that’s it unless some of you book flights in the next few days. If you do, just be sure you arrive having already memorized the club’s theme song, “Do You Really Want to Ski With Me?”

THE HORSE, OR SHALL I SAY STALLION…

I completely forgot to fill you in on Kicking Horse, the mountain that officially welcomed me back to Canada. So…here’s my opinion about the big ole’ pile of white stuff that lays just beyond the city of Golden, British Columbia:

• The light at the top of the tunnel. Shot from the bottom of chute #23. Kicking Horse, Canada. April 2011.Holy sh#t she’s a steep one. The last two resorts I skied before Kicking Horse were Alta, Utah and Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Let’s just say they were sleepers in comparison.
• Dagnabbit, gosh darn it, shoot she has a lot of chutes. With 85 inbound chutes, she is sure to leave you begging for mercy at the end of the day. Not interested in drive by chutings, here’s another stat. You can access 58 double black runs off of two chairs.
• Due to points one and two, I believe Kicking Horse Mountain Resort should be named something more extreme. Perhaps Kicking & Screaming Mountain Resort or Kicking It Up a Notch Mountain Resort. It should also have a hardy catch phrase. Something like, “You’ll be barely alive and kicking horse” or “If you want horse play go to the Calgary Stampede. If you want k#cking horse play, play here.” or “Screw running with the bulls when you can ski with the horse.”Sacrebleu, tabernac, holy merde I was wondering where all the French Canadians wintered. So don’t worry about having to finish the large poutine your ordered as you are sure to make some amis who can help.
• One of the 10 million shots I took from the top. Kicking Horse, Canada. April 2011.Nothing beats the view and I ain’t talking about Whoopi, Barbara, Joy, Sherri and Elizabeth. In this case, I am referring to the mighty Purcells, Selkirks and Canadian Rockies. Go to the top, order a beer at the Eagle’s Eye Restaurant (the most elevated in Canada) and slowly spin in a circle taking mental snapshots as you turn. This is what people mean when they say “top of the world”.

Basically what I am trying to tell you is this: Kicking Horse is a must for true snow hounds. Gather your best and brightest ski amis (this won’t be a trip for lollygaggers) in Golden and prepare yourself for an education on pitch, powder and pleading because someone will need to explain to the girlfriends, husbands and kids back home that you’re all staying for an extra three days. 

WINDED…      

I’ve huffed and I’ve puffed and I have almost blown myself down. Almost. Very nearly, on a few occasions, but not quite. I am still standing, atop my skis but I have to admit that I am exhausted, over-extended and partially wounded (don’t worry it’s nothing that ice and Ibuprofen won’t cure).

I know I will still get there, wherever “there” is on this quest but the other day as I was watched myself crumble and then watched as I put myself back together like a puzzle with the picture missing, I asked, “What is it that makes some people stand firm and march on while others walk away? What is it that keeps my grip wound so firmly around my Eagle Creek travel towel while others gently toss theirs in?” Is it my precious pride who sings lullabies to my ego at night? Is it my told you so tendencies, my “watch this” or my “you didn’t think I could do it did you?” No, it’s none of those things.

Not my most comfortable look. Jackson Hole, USA. March 2011.My nearest and dearest told me he believes successful people have one thing in common...their willingness to be uncomfortable for long periods of time. I slept on that and woke up wanting to add the following disclaimer:

There is a difference between struggle and being uncomfortable. One involves force, the other unease.

When you force your next step I can guarantee you that the path you are walking on is not yours and true success, real success, on someone else’s path is impossible. So I am not going to force myself to finish this journey, instead I am going to anxiously, even nervously continue walking on it’s path, my path, the one that is right under my soles. At times it is difficult and terribly uncomfortable but at least I know it is mine an so long as I keep marching success is still something I have a chance to reach.

Now, fourth wind, where are you? I need you now.

DUMP OF THE MONTH...

Photo credit - Anonymous and amazing friend of 10+ years. Vancouver, Canada. Some time ago.This popped into my inbox the other day and I could not resist posting it. Please keep in mind that I haven't had cable television since high-school, which makes my experience with the "hit shows" fairly limited. Thank goodness I've caught the below mentioned program a few times otherwise I could have taken this comment the wrong way.

It's short and it's sweet but it went a long way. Read on...

Steph - I was watching TV and came across The Biggest Loser...and I cannot watch the show without thinking of you.

It is inspiring and so are you! I have so much respect for you Steph and sometimes I forget to tell you that.

 - Anonymous and amazing friend of 10+ years

Dear Anonymous and amazing friend of 10+ years,

Sometimes I forget to tell you this: Of all my friends you have the most honest and the most beautiful simmering heart and your support has helped me define many moments in the lead up to and during this trip. You know who you are...thank you. 

OH, CANADA...

Simply put, raise that sh%t. Kicking Horse, Canada. April 2011.I arrived back to Canada on April 4, 2011. Boy was it ever nice to be greeted by hectares of wild, wild wilderness. Nice for my eyes to scan the mountains around Banff and further onto Golden and know that I was in the trenches of The Rockies, Columbia to my right Interiors and Coastals to my left. Lovely, even, to take in the smell of wetness on the spruce, pine and fir mixed with the scent of marijuana gently rolling through the air...the air inside the gondola at 9:00 a.m.Yes, that did it. I was back in Canada, B.C. to be precise.

The nicest thing though, considering I'm not a pothead and found myself gagging a little when the previously mentioned scent was added to the "tree planting hippy who spilled Kokanee on his ski pants and hasn't done laundry since November 22nd" smell that was also wafting through the eight seater, was the little reminder about where this journey all started. It was posted on the Stairway to Heaven Chair at Kicking Horse Mountain Resort.

Apparently, nothing is "restraining" Americans. Snowbird, USA. March 2011.I have to say, it's a way better sign than the one found in most of the resorts in the US of A. Don't get me wrong, I think we should all unload at some point or heck, even at multiple points but if we are living with our restraining bars raised perhaps we wouldn't have to unload as often. 

BODY OF WORK…

I was in San Diego for four days of sun and rest because I deserved it (there was also another reason but you’ll hear more about him little later). I skied just over one million vertical feet in the first three months of this trip and I’ve skied well over double that amount in the last three. In other words, I’ve picked up the pace. I’m not going to tell you it has been easy. Enjoyable? Yes. A breeze? Not so much. But I don’t want to talk about the hardships of skiing every day because I don’t think you want to hear about that. Instead, I am going to talk to you the body of work that has gone into it.

On Sunday, I found myself in boat in the middle of the ocean. I was about to dive into a session of self-loathing with my various parts, who were, for the first time in a long time, exposed. You see, ski gear covers a heck of lot more territory than an itsy bitsy teeny weeny and a year on the road, well let's just say things have “shifted” a bit. But at the same moment I was toeing the line of my diving board a bird caught my eye. A pelican was swooping low on the water, preparing to fill its greedy beak. I wondered if it cared about how the omega three content in the fish it was about to ingest or if the carbs in the kelp would make it look bloated. I laughed, put down the handful of insults I was about to throw at myself and decided to show some appreciation for the body that this trip has been sponsored by. The body that has made swooping low across mountains to fulfill my greedy snow-lust, possible.

Let’s be honest, I, like many women, lug a “loathe myself scale” with me to most places I go. I know some scales are more scathing than others. Mine is pretty mild, I think. But it’s still there with its weights and balances and final judgments and I let the jury that lives within it talk to me like I would let no other. Simply put, that’s not good enough for me any longer and here’s why.

Consider this the new Nudy Judy. Vancouver, Canada. July 2011.My arms have pulled luggage from Argentina to Argentière and when I get home they will wrap themselves tightly around the people I love. My legs have skied across mountain ranges, hiked over peaks and glided through valleys. They have fumbled through many bumps along the way but here I am, still standing. My feet have walked with me straight into the clouds, a place that is both closer to the finish line and farther from it than I ever thought. Those soles and wee toes have done it all from the confines of rigid, plastic shells. My hands have kept a tight hold on my heart and my heart has held onto my vision. My body has been my vehicle for this adventure, for all my adventures. My body has been strong and my body has been weak but each of those moments became pleading love letters to my soul. More importantly, my body is the house for my sapling spirit and there is simply not enough room in this house for the woman that I am and a jury of fickle friends.

So, in actual fact, when I think about this journey and the body that has gone into it, I am proud. Proud of my pasty and prickly calves, that jump with glee at every turn. Proud of my ever-growing thighs that thunder towards my ambition. Proud of the extra flesh that keeps me warm when the wind sets it’s howling dogs on me. Proud of my heart, that pounds out a rhythm for my life, something to dance to. Proud of the whole package, including things like toenails, that are no longer part of it. Mesmerized by what it is capable of and what it makes me capable of. Proud to own it, sleep in it, rest with it, use it, move it, live with it in sin, feed it and honour it like the graceful soldier it is.

The pelican flew by once again, a breeze tickled over my skin and my mind was quiet.