I'm up in Kirkwood this weekend. I've spent the morning skiing and I've landed back at the condo before everyone else for lunch.
I've changed out of my sweaty, confining ski clothes and slipped into a t-shirt and jeans. I'll go skiing again after lunch and have to pull all that stuff back on again, but for now I can feel like a normal human being. The normal state of this being is a good pair of jeans and my favorite t-shirt.
I've jacked my iPod into the TV (no receiver up here, and no real speakers - sigh) and cued up some rock and roll. My muscles aren't ready to hold still yet, so as the Travelling Wilburys tell me that it's alright, I'm walking my legs around the living room. I've pulled the rubber band out of my hair and I'm slowly raking my fingers through the remains of a french braid, letting my hair out to do its own thing. I gratefully find a cherry coke in the door of the fridge and as the Wilburys give way to the Stray Cats, I realize something.
This is my favorite part of skiing.