12,998 feet.

10 Mar

My week has been spent thus far in Breckenridge, Colorado, shredding like Shaun White, hanging with Jim, visiting my brother, and Drew “I do what I want” Henderson. Of course when I say I’ve been shredding like Shaun White, I mean I’ve been shredding like Shaun White at the age of 3. You know, a little less….”advanced.” The first four days I snowboarded my ass off, like literally off. I have no ass. It’s scattered about the mountain. On Tuesday I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a Subaru station wagon. My body was pissed off. My legs were more useless than Christopher Reeves’, and my core felt like I had been doing pilates non-stop for an entire year. Nevertheless, Pops and I headed out to Vail that day to ride. Bad idea. I became a carcass by late morning. My body was no longer responding to the signals my brain was sending it. It was time for a break.

After returning to the condo and limping out of the car, I donned my swim suit and crawled like a cripple to the hot tub outside to give my muscles some love. I made an executive decision to take the next day off and get some rest, since my muscles felt like Kevin Federline looks. I wonder what the nutritional value of Advil is, because it has made up for at least 40% of my dietary intake this week. As Wednesday rolled around, I took a nap like a brown bear, watched several hours of Food Network (I am now obsessed, and for some reason am craving surf and turf), showered (finally–I was so dirty, it was like against the law), and took my dirtbag dog Alan on a little walk through town.

Of course when I say I took him for a “walk,” what I really mean is that I literally dragged his reluctant ass through Main Street, trying in vain to coax him forward on the sidewalks as he spread his legs out, gripping the pavement with his claws, nearly yanking his collar over his head. Don’t dogs LIKE walks? This is what I was led to believe. Not Alan. He was terrified. Instead of trotting along like a normal pet, he tried to flatten his body to the dirty, slushy, muddy, snowy ground as if it would save his life. The result? The dirtiest, muddiest mutt I’ve seen since Harry’s poodle/condiments incident on Dumb and Dumber.

I was pissed.

In other news, my brother has emphysema. I have been trying not to breathe in his presence, as he has a vicious, disgusting, muscousy hacking cough that could scare off a pack of wolves. I’m convinced he’s got AIDS, because his immune system has been completely useless for the past year. I think I heard a howler monkey respond to him last night around 11. It was weird.

The mountains are so beautiful. It is so vast, so quiet, so peaceful in Colorado. I literally cannot wait to live here. During our “mud walk” I gathered a good two dozen real estate brochures around town to start drooling like a hound dog over. I am dreading the drive home on Saturday. This is what always happens on a return from a snowboarding trip: I overdose on Tylenol PM in the morning in an effort to knock myself out for a good portion of the 10 hour voyage back home. Partway through this drive, I awake to find myself removed from the glorious, mountainous terrain of Summit County, in the middle of the flat, dry, desolate plains of the midwest. Then I think to myself, “What the fuck am I doing here?” This is why I need to leave.

I can’t wait to have an active lifestyle. There is so much to do in the mountains: hiking, biking, rafting, skiing, snowboarding–it’s endless. In Kansas, it’s like, “What do you want to do tonight?” There are only two answers to this question:

1) Go to a movie.
2) Go to dinner.

This is why everyone in the midwest is bigger than hip, hop.

In other words, we are all whales.

I am going to be a ripped machine when I live here. Snowboarding is such a work out. I am going to be cut sharper than a diamond, built stronger than a Ford, and hotter than an electric burner from all the exercise I’ll be doing. I can hardly wait. Go ahead and order your swimsuit calendars now, boys.

Anyway, I am off to eat fish and chips with the fam and then head over to Drew’s house. Adios.


“Besides having sex with men, I’d have to say that The Finer Things Club is the gayest thing about me.”


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