I snuck up to Loveland the other day and found something I wasn’t expecting: legitimately good early-season snow. Not great, not mid-winter hero snow, but that surprising inch of soft chalk on top that makes everything feel a little bit more alive. Enough to let the skis run and remind me why we wait all summer for this.
I laid a few turns over and felt pretty good about myself for a minute, right until Burke Mountain Academy showed up in full force. Yes, that Burke. Mikaela Shiffrin’s alma mater. Fifty or sixty kids ranging from tiny to nearly grown, all carving the cleanest arcs imaginable. As the soft snow quickly vanished under their edges, my own turns fell apart. Theirs didn’t.
Riding the lift with them was surprisingly fun. I played the part of the old GMVS alum, telling them their program was our arch rival before they were even born. They laughed. Their coaches were generous with tips, the kids stayed curious and focused, and it was just cool to see that many teenagers so deeply invested in the craft.
The Masters racers were out too, another group I always respect. They’re the analytical ones, constantly comparing notes, watching video, adjusting stance angles and edge bevels by tiny degrees. They’re not chasing glory. They’re chasing improvement. There is something pure about that.
And then there were the teenagers skipping school, a whole different kind of motivation. Their morning consisted of sprinting down the cat track, launching off every side hit, ripping down the left side pretending they’re Candide, and then hammering laps through the park at the bottom. Less analysis, more instinct. But still pursuit. Still trying to get better, even if the process looks like chaos from the chairlift.
Someone asked me recently, “Who’s your most annoying customer?” I hesitated, because we’re in the business of helping people, not judging them. But the honest answer, the one I thought of later, is pretty straightforward: it’s the people who don’t want to get better at skiing.
Everyone else, the kids, the racers, the park rats, the lifelong learners, they’re the heartbeat of the sport. They care enough to try.
Skiing has always felt like more than recreation to me. Hemingway famously said there were only three real sports: bullfighting, motor racing, and mountaineering. I’d add skiing to the list. It’s a craft. A lifetime practice. The kind of thing that has you tuning edges at 11 p.m., debating 88 degrees versus 87 because the snow might be firmer in the morning. It has you watching videos, tweaking gear, refining technique, and searching for that feeling of weightlessness we’re all chasing.
Skiing, at its best, feels like flying. And if I’m going to fly, I want to do it well.
That’s what early season at Loveland reminded me of. No matter the age, discipline, or approach, almost everyone out there was working on something. Trying. Improving. Caring. And that’s the part of skiing, and of this whole bootfitting world, I love the most.