I'm proud to be able to continue the family tradition of skiing on Thanksgiving. Due to some lucky weather, Meadows had a rare early start this year and offered $26 tickets last week. It was sunny all week, so the snow was predictably horrible, but hey, it's tradition. I was really surprised how easily everything came back—the first run was shaky, but after that it was like I'd been skiing all summer.

My one nasty spill was a new maneuver for me: I managed to land my throat, just under my chin, right on the top of my pole. So hard it bent the pole 90 degrees. I've hit my voicebox so hard before I couldn't talk for days, and I'd probably be missing a tooth or three if I'd been a few inches north. But I've just got a bit of a sore throat—pretty lucky there. What was surprising to me, though, is how calm I was through the whole thing, just picked myself up and checked the damage. Yes, I'm conscious, and it looks like I'll stay that way. Yes, I can breathe. No, I don't seem to be bleeding uncontrollably and nothing seems to be broken. Alright, then. I don't think I could have done that a few years ago.