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Of the Jerries, for the Jerries, by a Jerry



skiing in a tight pizza form throught the trees
"Nobody out pizzas the hut"

As much as I would love to proudly boast my phenomenal skills on skis, I indeed cannot. Instead, I must confess I forayed into this sport as a contender for the top position as head of the Jerries. What is a Jerry? Well, a Jerry is a specimen who just cannot get it right when it comes to anything ski related, usually to the dismay of every skier around or with them. It is a person who carries their skis in a perilous fashion, endangering the wellbeing of innocent bystanders. It is the person who allows their goggles to jump about on top of their helmet like a fish flopping around on a boat deck. A Jerry is prone to skiing over every inch of your gilded skis while flailing forward in a lift line. It is a poor soul who, unbeknownst to them, is a complete detriment to the skiing experience of others.


With this in mind, I may be so bold as to call myself the Captain, Commodore and Comrade for the skiers who are, unfortunately, not "cool" when it comes to performing on the slopes. Though I may not be a shredder I have managed to commit most major ski faux pas, so one could say that is its own sort of accomplishment. I have turned downhill skiing into a hybrid version of cross-country by cutting straight across slopes in a horizontal line spanning the entirety of the run, to claim it as my very own and avoid as much downhill progress as possible while actively imagining my imminent death all the while. I have soaked in a Colorado blue bird day and had to interview for a new job with a very intense skiers burn from wearing neither sunscreen nor buff. I have found myself friendless on a powder day. I have trustingly followed my friends to places unknown and found myself led down into death traps and abandoned to fend for myself, usually ending in very tense and quiet lift ride. I've broken a ski pole by whacking it nonsensically against an innocent tree out of frustrations felt deep in my soul (which actually led to me sporting my current mismatching ski pole situation). I have thrown tantrums, shed an army of tears and even called my dad as a grown ass woman to tattle on my friends for being jerks. I've had panic-attacks, vowed to never speak to my fiancé every again--unfortunately, both publicly and privately. Indeed, I have lived a full spectrum of emotions in my short ski career.


A 9yr-olds vision of success...kudos to my teacher for cheering on my vision to be "fit and fun"

It could not be helped, the facts where the facts and I had to pay the ski tax. So, a Jerry existence is that that I lived. I walked like a Pelican in my ski boots while balking my way from car to gondola. I wore my poles around my wrists while getting onto ski lifts providing unwelcomed pokes to lift partners. I skied in "bird mode" with my poles safely tucked beneath my armpit and quads engaged in a full squat, charging forward at glacial speeds. My poor 9-year-old self would have been devastated to find out this was the skill level I would eventually exhibit. I had, after all, come up with the idea that, having zero skiing experience, I would one day compete in the Olympics as a Canadian skier, while also (somehow) simultaneously competing in figure skating and soccer in the same Games... I haven't lost all hope on this dream. It still may come to fruition if we ever create the Olympic equivalent of "Jerry Games"!


Yup, I've embarrassed myself in pretty much any fashion you can imagine with skis strapped to my feet. Hell, I've even gotten a pity free hot chocolate voucher from ski patrol after they had to rescue me with tips on how to get down a run after blasting past the "no beginners beyond this point" sign. These traumatic experiences and near endings of relationships have provided me with PTSD and a wealth of inspirations to draw from to create my 'Ski Culture Collection'. Hopefully my pain can provide you will some joyful laughter and relatable insight on what it is like to be finding your way through the tricky couloirs of becoming a skier. Let's share a chuckle over the silly things one finds themselves doing on a mountain and celebrate our inner jerries together.


Sportin' a reverse gaper gap on a blue-bird day

My ski collection remains:

Of the jerries, for the jerries, by a jerry.


As Always,


Keep it offbeat!

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