Man I hate Masters

Before I go any farther, I don't really hate masters. Just most of them. So from the cabin I went Bambi in tow to my house took my first shower in a week. Headed up to Stowe on Saturday and hiked up under the gondola with Noah and Tele skied down. Nice powder in the woods and I only coughed up 2 pounds of phlegm on the way up. After an entertaining night in Stowe I woke up and tried to go skiing up in the notch. My skis looked like sandpaper on the bottom they hadn't been waxed in so long but I was having fun cruising along. Well that was until I bumped into Mr. Master Blaster who must have just robbed a Louis Garneau museum from the 1980s. As I am skiing up on this guy (cause I am SO fast on Sunday mornings) I am watching him literally ski over small children so he doesn't have to slow up. There were a bunch of families walking up in the Notch and this guy wasn't having any of it. So as I catch Jean Claude working his neon ass up the hill I try and make some small talk before Northug by him. Of course in the matter of ten seconds he not only drops the fact that he's going out easy cause he wants to ski 4 hours but tells me about his focus on making the first wave in the Birkie. With an already weak stomach I thought I was going to blow chunks. I can't stand it. Then he started tearing into me about how it must be nice to have such good rock skis. The whole thing was stupid.

Anyway after getting a nice ski in and not feeling to sick I settled in for the long ride back to SLU, sun glaring in my eyes the whole way. From huntin' guttin' cookin' hikin' and skiin' I had a pretty good break, wish I hadn't been as sick, but I was able to rest up a bunch. Now the fun begins catching up on work. Went on a sketchy run this morning where everything seemed glazed over with ice with a light mist falling. I hate this time of year, I just want snow everywhere.