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Given all of that, it seems like an opportune time to ask a timeless question: What kind of a season was it?
In a word, it was an underachiever. Keep your shorts on; let me explain. Being neither dismissive nor uncomplimentary, I am as the penitent standing before a judge saying, "Guilty, your Honour... with an explanation."
I used to have a strategy in university. It stemmed from the self-understanding that I was (a) smart, and (b) lazy. It drew heavily on the very unfair social reality that first impressions are difficult to alter. It was shamefully opportunistic. Distilled to its essence, the strategy was to run like hell out of the starting gate, get to know the professor personally, in an ingratiating sort of way, ace the mid-term and coast to the finish line, drawing heavily on the hope he or she would consider my downward slide a mere anomaly, not indicative of my true understanding of the subject at hand.
It worked astoundingly well, perfectly if the final grade was more dependant on a paper as opposed to a test.
And that's the kind of season this underachiever was.
Quick out of the gate, it dumped copious amounts of fluffy light powder, much to our collective joy, in the final half of November. More snow followed in December and the temperatures remained cold. Cross-country skiing was almost as good as alpine skiing and that's a sentiment I never expected to personally make. But cold and dry — for the most part — is the recipe for perfect snow, assuming it's not dry enough to forget to snow at all.
We enjoyed what, in many places, passes for a whole season of excellent sliding before the tourists of Christmas ever arrived. We woke many mornings to the sound of avy bombs rattling our windows and alarming us out of bed. We skied fluff and enjoyed face shots instead of facebook. It was the best of times and our hopes soared for the season of a lifetime.
It even stopped snowing and got sunny for the two weeks of Christmas and New Years, much to the joy of even our sourest of guests. It was the perfect storm, or at least the perfectly mannered storm.
When the hordes of holiday revelers left and it started snowing again our hopes were further buoyed. Could it get any better? Snow for us, sun for the tourists, snow again for us. Wow!
Having impressed us beyond all hope, winter started coasting. Didn't see it in the classroom as often, never seemed to have clean clothes on when it did show up, sort of lost interest in the subject, took up with the wrong friends. It never really pissed us off, it just blended into the background of diminished expectations and became another faceless entity.