Before Nick and I married, my husband issued me an unwritten pre-nuptial statement which would allow him to ski where and whenever he desired throughout our wedded years. Having met each other in a Chicagoland ski club, where Nick was presiding president, this did not seem to be an unusual request from him at the time. What I didn’t know then, however, was the fact that Nick would become a certified ski instructor, would ski tough Canadian glaciers, and would very successfully teach all of our three children, as well as his wife, to love skiing. What I didn’t know then, either, was that both Nick and I would still be skiing into our senior years.
Twenty-three years ago, it seemed like the “logical thing to do” to buy a condo in the Vail, Colorado area. Used each winter by the Koplos clan, it wasn’t until five years ago, upon my husband’s retirement, that he truly was able to join the “Over the Hill Ski Gang.” For the last three years, Nick has averaged 63 days of skiing per season!
It wasn’t surprising then that Nick, at the age of 74-plus years, continues to love his “mistress;” and that I, at the age of 68-plus years, still ski but more like the “bionic woman.” Two knee braces and one ankle brace allow me to successfully ski a few black “expert,” but mostly blue “intermediate” runs, from three to seven days yearly. My husband, meanwhile, skis often with his much younger ski buddies on double black “very expert” runs laden with deep moguls. If I want to see my “Beloved” during the winter, skiing with a few aches and pains has become a “small price to pay” for the sport that makes me feel psychologically, but not physically, like the 26-year-old bride who made that promise so many years ago.
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