Dear Turns All Year,

We need to talk. After nearly nine years together, I think it’s time we take a break. 

It’s not you, it’s me. I just feel like we want different things… You know what, I can’t lie to you. After 107 months together (not that I’m obsessively counting or anything) you deserve to know the truth. 

And the truth is: there’s someone else. 

It started innocently enough. Just a little zygote growing in my belly. But before I knew it, things had ballooned out of control. Literally. I have a belly balloon and can no longer see my feet. I can’t put on shoes, let alone buckle ski boots. 

So we’re over. We have to be. In fact I ended things between us back in October – I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you. Part of me was holding out hope that October would come and I’d see an easy solution to staying together – perhaps a short skin from the Muir parking lot? But those dreams never materialized and, as I watched October 31 come and go without loading skis in the car, I accepted the fact that we’re really, truly, finally done.

I want you to know that this hurts me too. Watching my ski-wife celebrate 10-years of TAY without me, seeing other TAY enthusiasts ski not once but half a dozen times in October…. it stings. I am human after all. But now that I’m carrying a second human who’s using more than half of my lung capacity, it’s unreasonable to think I can carry the belly plus my skis miles up the hill just to navigate a bunch of Volkswagen-sized sun cups for the off chance that I might catch an out-of-season corn harvest. Sure, it was fun that one year, but let’s not forget about our first October together where we nearly drowned from all of the rain.

I will always cherish our good times together. You connected me to some of my closest friends, introduced me to a number of remarkable places, and inspired the invention of the Alpine Gimonaid. Hey! Remember when we skied Rainier in a tutu and lied to that lady about it being my birthday? Or when we attempted Glacier Peak not once but thrice, finally standing on the summit after two spectacular failures? You always helped me see the best in the worst conditions, no matter how terrible the snow or how crummy the weather. Maybe it’s because I had such low expectations of you, but you exceeded my dreams on every trip. 

I love you Turns All Year. A part of me always will. And while I’d like to think that we can start again someday, that I can introduce you to this future shredder in my belly, I won’t pretend that things will ever be the same between us. You deserve someone who will give you the once-a-month meetups you require. 

I wish you the best. I promise to drink a beer in your honor on my next chairlift ride.

Love,

Kristina

p.s. Don’t worry. This isn’t like the time I Quit Climbing. I’ll still be skiing as much as I can, as often as I can, with as many TAY enthusiasts as will still have me. I’m just not going to be a maniac about it. With over 100 months under my belt, I figure I’ve earned retirement. Too bad there isn’t a pension in the form of unlimited ski passes!

Main photo by Mitch Pittman.