Early Season
The season started off strong. I was coming off 18 months post-hip surgery, finally feeling like myself again—running, jumping, biking, stretching, all the things that make me feel alive. After living with a torn labrum for over a decade, it felt like I had finally put that chapter behind me.
The snow was late, but winter was settling in. The nights stretched longer, the air sharpened, and the holidays wrapped around us like a familiar old blanket. It felt like it was going to be a great season.
A few days before Christmas, I took an avalanche safety course—a full day in the mountains with like-minded people, rehearsing how to respond in a crisis, how to work as a team, how to save a life if it came to that. It reignited something in me. I grew up backcountry skiing, but life, family, and schedules made it hard to prioritize. After that first class, I knew I had to keep going, keep learning.
By the time I hit my 18th day on snow for the season, most of my time had been spent on the race hill with the kids. I hadn’t taken a day just for me. So I made a plan. After dropping the girls at their programs, I’d drive to Pinkham Notch, skin up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail, ski down the Sherburne, and be back in time to pick them up. A perfect window. Just a few hours in a place I love, moving through the mountains, clearing my head.
I packed my gear the night before—snacks, water, layers, touring setup. I was ready.
The Fall
The morning was smooth—breakfast, gear, getting everyone out the door. Victoria was first to be dropped off, then Charlotte and I had a little time. I figured I’d take a quick lap with her, check in, watch her progress. She’s getting so strong on skis, and it’s a joy to watch.
We met up with friends—Greg and McKenzie, two of the best people. Greg, a pharmacist, an incredible cook, and “the baby whisperer.” McKenzie, an ER doctor, a former pro figure skater, and an all-around badass. We hopped on the lift, a ride we’d taken hundreds of times before. Four minutes to the top.
And then…
The next thing I remember is standing at drop-off, asking questions about how the process worked.
Wait. What?
Something was off. My brain felt scrambled. My head hurt. My helmet—cracked inside and out. The foam, fully compressed.
I had fallen. Hard. And I had no memory of it.
Ski Patrol took one look at me and made the call—ambulance to the ER. CT scan. No arguing. The hike was canceled, and I had no idea what else was about to be.
Yuliya met me at Ski Patrol, then followed the ambulance to the hospital. I could see the worry in her eyes. And she was right to be worried. If I hadn’t been wearing that helmet, I might not be sitting here writing this.
The scan came back clear. Concussion. Could have been worse. They told me to take it easy for two weeks. But as I sat there, a different kind of pain started creeping back—the deep, familiar ache in my hip.
Crawl, Walk, Ski… Limp
It had been gone for months. I thought I was past it. But now, I was limping again. The pain settled in like an old ghost. No running. No jumping. No biking. No stretching. No skiing.
The days blurred together—work travel, parenting, commitments, the dull, constant throb of my hip reminding me of what I had lost. Again.
An X-ray showed nothing. Then an MRI. The results: two fractures in my hip. A high-grade hamstring tear.
Ski season appears to be on pause, for awhile.
The Long Road Back
So now, I wait. I’m still in the mountains, still on snow, just not skiing. I hang with Isaac while Yuliya gets out to enjoy the turns, the friendships, the life we’re so lucky to have.
Isaac just started walking. Fitting, really. A reminder that all of this is a process—crawling, walking, skiing… and sometimes, limping.
And that’s parenting too, isn’t it? Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, something knocks you flat. You get up, you move forward, you adapt.
Skiing, life, parenting—it’s all about the long game. The setbacks. The breakthroughs. The moments of pure joy and the moments that test you.
I’ll be back. I just need to take care of myself. Heal. Be patient.
There’s a lesson in here, I think. The arc of life might end with a limp, but in the time we have, we owe it to ourselves to move, to experience, to embrace it fully.
Take care of yourself. Take care of the people around you. We’re all in this together.
Countdown to snow: three weeks.
