Ass, meet Altitude. Altitude, meet my ass.

Sylvia and I went skiing again yesterday. The local club keeps groomed trails at the Pine Hills golf course just a few minutes out of town. Pine Hills is a good name for the place. Lots of pines. Lots of hills.

Towing the Chariot slows me down. I know this. Even with the great wax job my father treated my skis to before we left, the Chariot, with Sylvia aboard, weighs about 40 pounds. And, I’m no longer the athlete I was 10 years ago. I know this too. However, Pine Hills was kicking my ass. But why?

The answer came to me as I was admiring the Rocky Mountains in the rear-view mirror on our way home. Mountains! This isn’t just oil country, Baby. These are the foothills. We’re not at sea level anymore.

So I did a little research and according to the Internet altitude shouldn’t start affecting athletes until 1500 meters above sea level. We’re about 500 short of that here, but I’m sure it’s a gradual thing, right? Lesser athletes are affected at lesser altitudes, right? Makes sense to me.

Sylvia thinks so, too.

Pooped apres-ski

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5 responses to “Ass, meet Altitude. Altitude, meet my ass.

  1. Laura,
    Altitude kicks my ass too,and I’m not towing 40 lbs.

  2. Sounds like you’re having fun!

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