Ski.
Weekend trips to the ski hill are more than a chance to escape the inversion here in Salt Lake or time to spend with friends. For me it's a chance to transcend myself and the stresses of everyday life. To, for a few minutes, leave everything behind and throw myself down a mountain. Those are the times I push myself to the edge of what I thought myself mentally and physically capable of and then jump off that cliff, not literally. Not yet.
Skiers (and snowboarders) are a tribe that stretches across the globe. We are the girls who drool more over skis than diamonds, the guys who care more about their gear than their car, and the people who think a goggle tan makes people a little more attractive. It's a companionable group where your friends are the guys you met on the chairlift, the buddies you went up with, and that one weird guy who happens to offer you a free beer in the parking lot.
There's a negative connotation to the term "ski bum" to the uninitiated. From the outside these people look like a bunch of lackadaisical stoners who would rather ski and party than do anything productive with their lives. I'm not going to deny that drug use and excessive partying are not a part of ski life, but they are not requirements for membership in this group. Ski bums are, more generally (and accurately) a group of individuals who live for the cold smoke, who would rather live in an incredibly pair of boots that allow them to shred the gnar, who enjoy having a good time, and who enjoy the challenge of pushing themselves to a new level.
We're a group of people on the hunt for the steeper side of life. And if it's the deeper side of life too, all the better.
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