Farmington Canyon, April 9, 0221

"Mistakes are the portals of discovery.” - James Joyce

 

Big mistakes were made today and by the end it was misery, but with a few splendid moments in the sun.

I have sciatica that comes and goes and last night I didn’t sleep, electric pain streaming down my right leg. I had a commitment with Brett to ski, so when the alarm went off at 5:00 I went for a bottle of painkillers and took a full dose. I know better, but I was desperate after no sleep. I should have called Brett and cancelled the day, but I couldn’t. Brett is a good freind and we go back decades climbing and skiing and cycling, we use to ski together at least once a week, but the Winter of 20-21 has been a train-wreck for me. It’s now April and we hadn’t skied together all year, and that is my fault. He has tried to include me, calling and texting all winter, but I have not accepted his invitations. Working a new job from home has been challenging.

Inner demons have found a hold and my strongest rejections have failed. Beautiful memories from younger days have slowly become nightmares, transformations from happiness and joy to dark recesses that I can’t seem to shake. Memories often bring anxiety and a pressure to reconstruct previous pleasures and joys that came so naturally when I wass younger. Great memories become hauntings.

Despite the pain and the dark mood, I knew I had to go ski with Brett today. I had to try to rebuild a friendship that I was ignoring. 

Pain medications were once a dangerous dependency for me. I’ve had sciatic pain for years and my career sitting at a computer has been a major source for that pain. My boss didn’t believe me when I whined about the pain from sitting too long. He’d see me get up every hour to walk the halls, then he’d see me leave to go run during lunch, so he thought I was full of shit and manipulating the system. He didn’t know that movement brought relief and that sitting and a sedentary lifestyle amplified the pain. Hard activity and exercise became a remedy for pain, and it brought supreme joy. 

I frequented pain management Doctors for decades to find relief during the long hours sitting during work,  even had disk-ablasion surgery a few years ago with partial relief, but the pain still persists. When I was younger Doctors readily prescribed big bottles of pain-killers. Looking back, I’m puzzled with the ease of getting supplied with pills. I used them and they worked, but pills are dangerous. They take hold and it becomes tough to turn away. I’d like to think I was not addicted, dependent certainly, but addicted? Maybe. Just know I never took the the meds outside the parameters of the prescriptions. Admittedly when I first started using them they made me fell pretty damn good, and maybe I took them at times as much for that good feeling as much for the pain, but over time that good feeling steadily diminished and has since been replaced by nausea and a spinning head. Now in my late fifties, the pills no longer bring the warmth and joy they once did. They still take out the pain, but I can no longer use them for a sense of peace. Was I addicted? Perhaps, but by not increasing my usage when the good feelings abated, my reaction to the drugs seemed to change. 

Thankfully they now bring nausea and a spinning head. Thankfully because the sickness now has greater volume than any joy or peace. With a family history of addiction, with some tragic outcomes, I have a constant, grim reminder of the weakness in my DNA. The sick feeling I now get with pills is welcomed. It makes it easier to walk away. Still, deep inside, I know there is a sleeping enchantress.      

I met Brett at the Farmington Canyon gate. From there we road E-bikes around the locked gate and up the canyon road. The road was melted off but muddy in the shade, our tires crunching through the wet gravel, spraying our legs, bikes and skis with a chocolatey, grainy shower, a stark contrast to the shiny-white  mountains above. We hid the bikes under a wizened Douglas Fir and transitioned to skis, skinning up the ridge, headed for Rice and Mud Bowls. The nausea set-in as we crossed the stream and started climbing the loud, frozen snow. When I took the pills this moring I presumed I could replace the unpleasantness with a proven source of joy, that being skinning up a steep mountian. I thought climbing steep, frozen snow would be a distraction  from the nausea, but the higher we climbed the sickness became more severe. I let Brett lead so he wouldn’t see me bent over my poles, swallowing down the bile.   

We skied one run down Mud Bowl in a breakable crust, not the creamy corn we hoped for, then started back up for another go. We hoped the strengthening sun would make the snow forgivable but as we climbed it was apparent this would not be an easy-turning day. Near the top I had to stop, I finally confessed to Brett that I felt like shit. I headed to some trees to void my gut while Brett continued up for another run, but when I got to the trees the sickness wained. I quickly got back on track and tried to catch Brett. At the top I nearly vomited again, but I held it in and transitioned to ski. We skied Rice Bowl, down the center to about half height, close to 1,000 vertical feet, the snow still grabby, trip-able crust. Brett is usually gunning to go again, but when we stopped he paused with a questioning look, “go up or go down?” In the moment I felt good, “let’s go up,” I said, and, like an excited kid on Christmas morning, Brett put on skins and started sprinting back up. Soon though my nausea came back. I bent over a few times knowing the vomit was coming, but it never did come. Projectile interruptus. Each time the gagging would subside and I would again begin my slow, plodding climb. In hindsight, I should have gagged myself with my fingers, just to be done with it. 

At the summit I told Brett I was toast, this was my last run, and Brett pointed out his new favorite exit route, down the west ridge of Rice Bowl. It’s a fairly long run, dropping over 2,000 vertical through stands of aspen at a fun, constant angle, and the farther we skied the weaker I got. Before long I had to stop every few turns to avoid collapsing. I’ve never felt so weak while skiing. At the bottom Brett saw my pathetic efforts and he helped strap my skis to the bike. It was a six mile coast down the canyon to the truck but it was still an effort, feeling faint and longing for home. At the truck I could barely stand. I was shaky and kept bending over to get blood to my head. I told Brett I couldn’t drive and I needed food. He drove us to the mall in his Subaru then bought us cheese-burgers. Being sick and near vomiting just an hour earlier, I was shocked how quickly I sucked down that burger. Food never tasted better. When we were done, Brett drove me back to my truck, and I drove home, embarrassed and wondering what the hell just happened?

What did happen? I got sick on pain meds while trying to skin and ski, and, feeling sick, I stopped eating or drinking. When skiing I tipically eat and drink incessantly. Chocolate, peanut butter, nuts, pepperoni and constantly drinking clear water, but today, with zero calories and no hydrating, I had the greatest BONK of my life. Mistakes are the portals of discovery. 

View looking up the Mud/Rice divide, Bountiful Peak in center of photo. 

  

Mud Bowl just off the left-side high point.

Final approach to the top of Rice Peak.

View west over Rice Bowl.

Brett and my second run turns down Rice Bowl.

Brett laughing and my pathetic efforts today, which was much deserved. Frances Peak to his left. 

Brett skiing his exit run.

Brett's turns.

Muddy equipment, ready for the hose. . .