Apprehension and revealation

Well, tomorrow I get to go into NYC to be a human lab rat for the day. I've got a full schedule at NY Presbyterian- bloodwork at 11:30, CT at 1:30, and an MRI at 4. This means that I will get needles jabbed into me three times- fun fun fun. Not to mention the fact that I'll have to fast for te CT. Nothing like having a few idle hours in Manhattan and not being able to enjoy the food.

Sometimes I wonder why I am going through all of this? I'm not a religious person, so I don't think god is testing me or I'm being punished for something I did in a previous life. All I know is that these experiences have helped me to determine who I am. Five years ago, I was living in Wilmington, NC, completely miserable. I was unemployed, broke, and hundreds of miles away from any sort of skiing. I remember watching the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, and just saying to myself "Fuck this. I'm going home." I realized that living near the mountains was important to me, and that one of the things that I was was that I was a skier. And skiers just don't live in the south.

Despite all of the hardships I am currently enduring, I am actually happier now than I have ever been at any point in my life since childhood. And a big part of that was this self discovery. For a lot of my life I was trying to be someone else. And a lot of the time it was someone else's vision of what you are supposed to be that I was trying to conform to. This often led to a bunch of bad decisions. A lot of the time, I thought I could change myself by being around people who I thought I wanted to be like. I tried to emulate them, instead of following my own way. Usually, it meant hanging out with people who I had very little in common with, and making myself believe that they were my friends. Of course they weren't. Sure, they were who I was hanging out with, spending my time with, but they sure as hell weren't my friends. Of the hundreds of people I have met in the ten years after I graduated high school, very few of them I would consider to be my friends.

It was this weekend that really brought this point home to me. I was in Vermont skiing. Saturday night we were just hanging out at the house, drinking beers and stuff. And everyone there but me was very successful. Young professionals, mostly Manhattanites, with high paying jobs. Than there was me, the 31 year old who a lot of people might think of as having his entire adult life be one big junk show. Hell, I usually think my life's is a junk show. But not these folks. They know me, and know that just because I don't quite conform within the limits of everyday society, I shouldn't be written off. And I realized that this is what I was missing all along- people who were not so quick to judge. That's a rare quality amongst the general populace, and something that I will admit to being guilty of far more than I would like to be.

As more beers were consumed and late Saturday night turned into early Sunday morning, a woman in her mid twenties started to get upset and tell me how much of a junk show her own life was. Having called many of my freinds late at night in the same situation, I knew how to react, and got her to calm down and feel better about her not-so-terrible life. I reminded her that I was broke, sick, and had no idea about what I was doing with my life. She than looked right at me and simply said "You're a skier."

Awww, mama. Can this really be the end...

…To be stuck inside at Mt. Snow with the Whistler blues again?

Well folks, there’s no other way to put it- it’s really fucking cold today. -40 at the top of the mountain this morning. So instead of skiing, I have declared this as a national suckers’ day, and intend to spend the rest of my afternoon working on my beer dinking, pizza eating, and movie watching skills.

One week ago I was in Whistler, BC. I do believe that I may have just discovered heaven on earth. Some of the most amazing ski terrain I have ever seen, with a base village full of more beautiful women per square mile than anyplace outside of possibly Manhattan (but very few of those in Manhattan actually ski), and good sushi. And I hear the mountain biking is pretty good in the summer as well.

My trip to the Pacific Northwest was quite successful. With the massive snowfall the region has experienced this winter, I was able to ski plenty of powder. Of course having a few locals in the know to show me around certainly helped. I also managed to get some great footage and a really good interview for Normalcy. And I managed to avoid any injuries during the trip, something that had plagued my previous Western adventures.

But for now the PNW and its stashes of powder are but a memory. It’s back to a harsh New England winter (although after the warm early season, I’m not bitching), and East Coast hardpack (blue ice for those of you who consider skis with less than 95mm underfoot skinny). I nearly suffered frostbite on the 2 square inches of my face that weren’t exposed yesterday at Tremblant. Multiple layering is the key today.

Or I could just stay inside. After all, I do have a fridge full of beer, a pizza in the freezer, and the Director’s Cut of Miami Vice on DVD.

Kicking ass in the PNW

Well, what can I say, but the last three days have been amazing here in Washington. Saturday was a long day, beginning well before sunrise to Crystal Mountain, Washington, where I had the best lift served day of skiing I have ever had. With guide services provided by the Mullah himself (also known as Bruce or Buster), I made some sweet powder turns, and skied into the steepest line that I have ever dropped into. Of course I'm telling my mom that I stayed on the bunny slope, since I've had a few bad injuries in recent years.

After skiing Crystal and chowing down on some seafood enchiladas, we headed up to Glacier, WA, to get a jump on the way to Mt. Baker. We were given the tour of the Baker backcountry by brilliant ski photag Grant Gundersen. After a day of skiing pow, we had a few pints at the Tap Room, Baker's watering hole.

Monday was spent skiing with a very well known professional skier. I won't reveal their identity, lest I seem like some sort of name dropper. But I will say that hiking and skiing around the Mt. Baker backcountry, while trying to keep up with one of the best big mountain skiers in the world makes for one hell of an exhausting day. Courtney, if the Straightline Camp is as strenuous as these last few days I've had, I wouldn't worry one bit about missing any workouts.

Today was reserved for laundry and checking out record stores and restaurants in Seattle's Capitol Hill district. This is one hell of a cool city, despite the fact that nobody here seams to know how to drive in the snow. I heard that people were abandoning there cars on I-5 during the snowstorm last week. And I have seen a ton of people who look like extras from the movie "Singles". The grunge look is still going S
strong on the Puget Sound. Tomorrow I plan to ski again, and this weekend I'll be riding a mile of vert at Whistler/Blackcomb, BC. Trip report of sushi and Kokanee to follow.

The feeling

It had been nearly three years, but today I finally experienced it again: legitimate, bonafide, powder turns. At seven O’clock this morning, I was picked up by Jeff Dabe. I have not seen Jeff since 1994, when we were both exchange students in Norway. We headed north to Steven’s Pass.

As we drove deeper into the Cascades, my mind was blown away at the mountains. I don’t think I will ever cease to be amazed by the landscape of the American west. As we headed up the mountain, I was stoked to see deep piles of snow lining the road. I pulled out my camcorder and began recording some B-Roll for the doc.

Upon arrival at Stevens, I met up with Jim Craig, a fellow cancer survivor and the subject of today’s shoot. On the first chair, I explained to him the sometimes tedious procedure of video production. Plenty of times during the day, I would have to ski down ahead, set up my camera, shoot Jim skiing down, break down the camera setup and stuff it into my pack, and ski down to Jim again. Fortunately, Jim was a good sport about the whole thing. I’m sure having three young daughters at home does wonders for a man’s patience.

But the highlight of the day was when our fend Mike gave us a quick tour of the backcountry. A short traverse beyond the ski area boundary led us to some untracked, wide open, fresh snow. After shooting Jim ski through the bowl, I put my camera in my backpack, and pointed my boards down the fall line. I had not skied that kind of snow since 2004, but it only took a single turn for it to come back. The subtle finesse powder skiing requires, as opposed to the brute force often required to hold an edge on icy eastern runs.

We drove back into Seattle, still covered in a blanket of snow. I was exhausted, and my bad knee was acting up in the cramped confines of the back of a Jeep. But I had finally skied powder again. Nothing else mattered to me. Not cancer. Not the fact that I don’t have a house, a career, or a wife. Driving on I-5, I was thinking about all of the people I have met in my life, and how many of them are truly happy. How many people out there living the American Dream are actually living the American Nightmare? Killing themselves at a job they hate, for what? A bigger TV and leather seats for the car? Statistically, Americans work more and take fewer vacations than their counterparts in most industrialized nations. And is it any wonder why we’re so stressed out, drugged up on Prozac and Coor’s Light? Back in Vermont, I share a house with many successful youg people. You can, and maybe even should, refer to them as Yuppies. Sure, they might have it all, but what do the really have?

Good- but not great- news.

Well, last week I had another CT scan to see how the nodules in my lungs are doing, and today I got the results. When my oncologist came in to see me, he seemed pleased with the results he saw. Now, keep in mind that this is someone who routinely tells people that they have six months left to live, so his definition of good news might not quite be the same that the rest of us have.

Basically, he told me that since September, the lesions in my lungs have grown slightly larger, but not by much and at a very slow rate. He also said that I should now be eligible to participate in a clinical trial for a cancer vaccine. He thinks that the IL 2 treatents I underwent this summer slowed down the disease, and hopefully this vaccine will deliver the knockout punch.

So hopefully by the time I turn 32 I should have this motherfucker kicked in the balls and down for the count. I've had enough of this thing inconveniencing my life.

But fuck it, dude. Tomorrow I'll be in Seattle, and the PacNW has been getting hammerred with snow.

The waiting game.

In the early 70's, reggae legend Jimmy Clif wrote a song called "Sitting in Limbo" for the classic film "The Harder They Come." (Speaking of which, what ever happenned to the sequel- "The Harder They Fall", which Wyclef Jean was supposedly involved with?) Ever since my CT scan on thursday, I have been nervously awaiting the results, which I will recieve tomorrow. It is an extremely stressful situation, wondering what the tests will reveal. You spend a lot of time asking yourself questions, mainly, did the last treatment work? When the Interleukin II treatment didn't sucessfully send my cancer into remission, the storm clouds of doubt began to gather momentum in my head. It was a very difficult time to go through, and the light at the end of the tunnel began to fade away.

This, of course, is not the best attitude to have. But since every CT scan I have had since October 2005 has not exactly came back with great news, optimism is a hard mindset to achieve. Particulary when I have always been a sort of glass is half empty personality to begin with.

But at least I know one thing is for sure- no matter what I hear from my oncologist tomorrow, 7:45 Wednesday morning I will be on a flight to Seattle. For twlve days I will be in the Pacific Northwest, where, unlike Vermont, they have been getting absolutely pounded with snow. The Cascades and Coast Range of B.C. will give me either the ultimate reward or distraction- deep snow. Because once I'm at the top of a mountain, with over a foot of fresh snow beneath my skis, nothing else will matter.

Busy start to 2007

Well, It's taken me a few days to finally get around to my first post of the New Year. On Jan. 1, I was simply too tired to write anything down. I would go into details, but what happens in West Dover, stays in West Dover.

Jan . 2-3 I spent at Killington, filming for Normalcy, my documentary film work in progress. My subject was Dave Wray, a 20 year old skier from West Virginia who is a two year cancer survivor. It was his first time skiing outside of W. Va. or Maryland. Yesterday I spent in NYC, getting tests done at NY Presbyterian, and buying a bunch of stuff at B&H.

Today I skied 10,000 feet of vert at Mt. Snow. The conditions weren't that bad, in the spots where the snow was white. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot of that in abundance.

I'll try to keep you guys up to date, but the next few weeks show no signs of stopping. Tuesday I go back to NY Presbyterian, and Wednesday I fly out to Seattle and BC for 12 days. It's gonna be exhausting, but it should be a hell of a lot of fun!