The mornings started cold, the kind that wakes you up instantly. Boots on, gear sorted, heading out before the slopes filled up. At first, it was about movement—getting runs in, finding rhythm, pushing a little.
But the best moments came in between.
A lift ride where no one said anything. Just the sound of the cable and the wind. Looking out over something that didn’t feel entirely real.
We took a wrong turn one afternoon. Ended up on a trail that wasn’t marked clearly, quieter than anything we’d been on all day. Slower, more deliberate. It forced us to pay attention in a different way.
Lunch stretched longer than planned. One of those places halfway up the mountain where time doesn’t move the same. No one rushing you out, even when you’ve clearly been there too long.
By the end of the trip, the highlight wasn’t the best run. It was that stretch where things slowed down just enough for you to notice where you were.
