Postcards From the Weekend: Working For It

A pre-dawn wakeup call, a groggy car ride, a few hours of dragging heavy limbs up a snowy slope. It’s easy to justify heading to the resort instead. But the taste of a well-earned turn is sweeter than any lift-accessed run could ever be. Time stops. There’s no urgency. No waiting in line. No Go-Pro crazed powder hound to snake your line. For a few hours, the mountain is yours. It’s quiet, except for the whoops and hollers of your friends; the sound of pure joy and giddiness that even adults aren’t immune to. High fives are passed around, then it’s back up the hill. Time to do it all over again.

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