I’ve been on skis a lot this season. Or at least, is feels like a lot. I’ve spent lightyears more days skiing this season than I ever have in a single season. Like, it’s not even close. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not breaking any records: I know more than a few people who have skied far more than I have this year, which is seriously awesome, but I ski for me and I’m pretty stoked on how much I’ve already jammed into the season. (Tangent: If you’re looking for a number, you won’t get it. That west-coast obsession with counting and broadcasting your “days” is egotistical, self-absorbed, and definitely makes me think you’re a tool—but that’s all for another post.) And there is a ton more skiing I want to get done. Jackson tomorrow, Taos in a couple weeks—guys, there are freaking COULOIRS just sitting there waiting for the avy conditions to moderate, begging us to straight-line the crap out of them. But spring is coming, burnout is real, recreational ADD is legitimate, and camping next to alpine lakes, biking through the desert, running through lupine meadows, and my @chacofootwear are all calling my name just as loudly as the spring corn.