Living in Ski Pants and why it's kind of awesome.

Another day up the Fryingpan.

Time and time again this winter I find myself trying urge my body on to keep up with my mental ambitions. Whether it's skinning up multiple resorts a day, venturing out into the backcountry with dear friends or some combination of those and the unknown. With the tally of these days stacking up I find my self increasingly appreciative of my ski pants. I realized recently that I have only one pair of ski pants, they're comfortable and functional and I could not ask much more of them.

For instance recently before work I ventured out with one of the shop's reps to demo some prototype skis in some nearby mellow backcountry. Pants on and it was go time with a quick lap in and a couple descents the pants were warmed up for the upcoming days off.

Day two in my ski pants included a quick skin up Buttermilk (one of the more mellow local resorts that allows uphilling all day) on a demo race setup, which literally allowed me to run with skis on. I must admit that they were a bit squirrelly when taking them off jumps since they weigh only a few ounces but it was worth it for the uphill. After a quick lunch/beverage break I moved over to the next resort, Aspen Highlands for an afternoon skin up to jump on some lifts and ski with some friends. After skinning up a couple mountains my pants had certainly earned a quick beer at the local brewery before hitting the town.

A glimpse of the pants themselves! 

The next morning finds me nursing a headache while climbing into my ski pants trying to get my act together to meet a ski partner to ski a newly discovered backcountry zone. Fast forward a couple cups of coffee and few advil and a bunch of psyche and there we are skinning up the remnants of a prior visit's skin track to score a few crusty and a few powdery, miles from the nearest people. After a lap I found myself in the Glenwood library in front of the computer in my slightly less than clean ski get up for a nice skype date before hanging out with my uncle and an early bedtime.

Day 4 finds me embracing my freegan beliefs in the lift ticket line in Vail where I was able to score a lift ticket and ride the lifts all day with my cousins and uncle, no doubt my trousers and hip flexors alike were delighted to not be bushwacking through scrub oak and conifers and instead to be soaking up the rays on a bluebird day at the resort, slaying crusty bumps and corduroy with impunity.