The February vacation storm resembles the 2020-2021 season: a massive buildup of expectation vaporized into mediocrity. Possibilities of two feet of snow became two inches of mixed. The wind howled, intermittently pelting cars with rain and sleet. The lifts would eventually turn, but it was a tease compared to what might have been.

Lower mountain lifts opened as the weather relented. I skied all of the trails from Gary’s to Avalanche, and the glades in between. The snow was better than it had any right to be considering the weather. Tracked was often better than untracked, particularly in the trees where a thin layer of skied off snow could covered rocks.

The Peabody Quad eventually opened but not the upper mountain Cannonball Quad. The lower mountain trails were better than mid-mountain trails. Warming temperatures kept the snow soft and forgiving down low, not so much up high. The following evening, temperatures would plummet and turn moisture laden snow into concrete. Entering what should have been the snowiest part of the season, it was already the beginning of the end.

I lost the narrative this winter. Not the skiing narrative. The skiing narrative followed the foreseen arc: stay local, earn turns, observe travel restrictions, and occasionally ski Cannon when it did not feel like a zoo. I did not ski much, but I did not care to ski much. It was a lost season. I took what I got and I was happy to not miss any epic days in VT (since there were none).

Rather, I mean the personal narrative. I spent more time on my bike indoor training than skiing. I am fitter going into the spring than I ever have been before. But I lost some personal discipline. I lost focus. I floundered aimlessly this winter without making much personal progress. I probably should not view stagnation as a setback. At least I can say that I am fit as fuck for cycling season.

The story goes on and the protagonist has noticed the obstacle and works to tear it down. Onward.