For ski town folk, powder is not a mere fancy, or even a habit –  it’s an addiction.

When you first move to a Mountain town you are fulfilled, even thrilled, that you can get out on the Mountain for an hour during your lunch break. But, after experiencing a few days of untracked blower white lines, getting it a few hours a day just leaves you wanting more. You begin sneaking out in the mornings, then showing up early to get your fix, waiting in line for the Mountain to open. Soon you start hiking for fresh tracks.

When it snows on consecutive days, you begin scheming ways to get out. You reschedule appointments and cancel meetings, then stop answering your phone all together. You’ll do anything for another fresh line. You start neglecting your relationships and say seemingly meaningless things like, “There are no friends on a powder day,” but you mean it. You even think the saying should extend to family, spouses and significant others.

You vow that when it stops snowing, you’ll catch up, pay bills, return phone calls, amend relationships. You’ll delve back into your career and normalize your life. You’ll have had your fix; you’ll be satisfied.

But the snow keeps coming and each turn brings with it a new high. You consider quitting your job, working nights, maybe cashing in your children’s college funds and following the storms.  You begin trading your services for a ski pass. In town, after the ski day, you sneak knowing glances at those in your club.

Then, the snow stops coming. You lie to yourself and to those around you,  pretending everything is fine. You devise complicated ploys to distract yourself. You take up Nordic skiing and yoga. You even dust off your bike and journey to the desert. You’ll do anything to take your mind off the snow conditions.

“It’s not so bad,” you unsuccessfully try and convince yourself. “There’s lots to do, even if the skiing sucks.”

You go through the motions like everyone else, but at night, and in the middle of meetings, you keep checking the weather app on your phone.

Then, one evening, the clouds start accumulating. The humidity rises and a few flakes fall. Your mind starts racing. They’re predicting five to seven.

Without even thinking, you find yourself back in the lift line. You try to play it cool, but as you ride the lift, you fidget. You unload, and take your first few turns, you get a face shot and it all starts again.

You have a powder problem; you’re addicted.




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