X-Box The Zero Edition

I opened my eyes as a whisper. I recognized the dark bedroom, and with equal certainty knew that my left hand was resting on top of my daughter Edit's head. Less sure about the weight I felt on my chest, I dropped my eyes enough to be able to outline the nose end of our dog. The rest of her stretched out alongside me, the length of the bed. All of her was snoring. Then I glanced towards the windows. The shades were still up, but even with the stadium lighting from the hospital across the street, I could see nothing outside. Frost had completely coated the panes. Comforted by contact and a down duvet, I decided to avoid consciousness as long as possible. But as I am a human game of Mouse Trap, I began to massage the top of Edit's silky head, which caused her to swing an arm and a dead-weighted hand into my face. With consciousness now barging through to the surface and shoving inner peace off the yoga mat, I realize that both bed rules: (1) sleep in your own and (2) no dogs, had been clearly violated during my ski-induced coma. The last thing I remember of the night before was, "It's time for bed, girls," followed by, "It's only 7:30, Mom."

Twelve hours earlier I had turned on the weather. Channel 4 reported a -6 F morning. I wanted to call my ski partner and say, "My lungs won't work at less than -2," but instead I told the kids that maybe they should wear gloves and if their hair allowed, a hat, shoved them out the door with a cold but organic-ish pop tart, and started looking for layers. Hodgson Russ, LLP was throwing its annual ski day holiday at Holimont ski resort, and I was going as a guest of a friend from M&T Bank. Yeah, it was cold, but this was a free lift ticket at a private club. Free and private betters the temperature of anything by 10 degrees, at least.

At zero degrees, snow squeaks, wind-tears ice up on lashes, and the soft foam on the edge of goggles hardens into face biting steel. At zero degrees, you start calculating the windchill caused by your own vertical drop and you don't dare take off a glove to answer a cell phone. At zero degrees, you ski moguls. You have one bad knee and a family to support, but to stay warm, you ski moguls. But at zero degrees with a 10 foot base, babies stay home and the snow conditions are dude-perfect. So we break-necked down the hills without worrying about a slushy stick-trip, or ice patches. We didn't have to extend courtesies to slower skiers, because there weren't any. (Sure, we'd get a brain freeze at the bottom of every run, but since when did a brain freeze ever stop anyone from sucking down the next milkshake?) Then, near the end of the day, after Hodgson had enticed most of the slopes into the lodge with food and entertainment, I discovered I could turn the runs into a video game. I started at about 10 yards behind my partner and with full out recklessness followed in his tracks, around curves and turns, through the black diamond trails, never sure where he would go. It was if I were in an X-Box, and I felt like I was nine years old again. We did this until the shadows masked the runs' blips and bumps. Only then did we get sensible and take our frozen body parts inside to thaw. Image by CB.