Plan B: Lacrosse Camp

If you haven’t found your athletic calling in a real sport, why not try lacrosse? Despite its Native American origins, “lax” now more closely resembles the bastard protestant son of hockey, soccer, football, tennis and jai alai. Lacrosse, much like skiing, revolves not so much around the raw talent of the athlete as in football or soccer, but around the number of camps and summer leagues you can cram into your summer, as well as your proximity to Darien, Connecticut.  Lacrosse is the identity crisis of the American WASP laid out bare on a grass field, combining elements of bravery (getting bashed with a metal stick while trying to run), cowardice and formal attire (it’s okay to suit up in your seersucker shorts after the game and a good dip sesh’), equipment confusion (how many fucking pads am I supposed to wear?  Less than hockey, but more than football?), purely arbitrary inventiveness (running around while “cradling” a ball in a modified tennis racket attached to a pole), and ample chest-beating, all while letting you hang out with wealthier sluts than the football and basketball crowd.

All they're missing are some cool lanyards.

Summer lacrosse camp is a paradise of lanyards, pinneys, wearing socks in crocks after practice, and running around with your exact-likeminded bros while cradling around town and reaching for your spitter.  As the gayest homophobic sport on Earth, lacrosse lets you go lift, dip, watch Sportscenter, and generally hang with other bros in loose athletic attire without making you look like you’re avoiding talking to girls.  If you ever wanted to play soccer again though, you better leave those hopes at the door, because once you’ve spent a few hours cradling with the bros, using your feet in any deft manner is just… gay.  Be sure that your chosen lacrosse camp has “intense,” “next level,” “sniper,” or a misspelling such as “xcelerate” in the title.

Plan C: Skateboard

If you hate gym class and believe what the big companies want you to believe, that boardsports (and drinking Monster) equals independence and counter-culture freedom, go to your local skate shop and slap down a cool two hundo for trucks, a deck, grip tape, bearings, wheels, and some skate shoes. Then head to the local skate park.  At first you’ll wonder what you’re doing gouging your shins out trying to learn kickflips while the cool older kids smoke cigarettes and drink water out of a gallon jug, but by the time you learn a rock n’ roll in the mini-pipe, you’ll be ignoring mom’s calls for dinner.  And nothing kills a slow afternoon like a small hill and a longest-manual contest, because playing SKATE would mean you’d have to know at least five tricks.

Plan D: Hike and Do Other Shit in the Mountains

It took me a long time to realize that ski resorts often do more business in the summer than in the winter.  Apparently, some people prefer hiking up the hill and walking around it and maybe riding a go cart to having a moving chair take you to the top so you can haul ass down on skis on smooth snow.  Unless you have a sick mountain bike, the pace of summer in the mountains might seem a bit slower, and I often can’t stand it, but at the same time, you can see cool shit like deer and birds. You can also haul a shitty plastic tent deep into the woods to get drunk with your buddies and get bitten by mosquitoes.  If you live on the East Coast and your local hill receives a measurable amount of snow, it’s also a good time to thin out some new glades for next year, but I suppose being the Director of Sustainability for SASS means I shouldn’t tell people to cut down trees.  If you live on the West Coast, you will probably just laugh at this idea instead since your woods are naturally perfect already.  Assholes.

Maybe you'll see something worth pointing at.

Plan E:  Get Injured

An option I’ve recently pursued personally, the summer is the perfect time to strain your hamstring, get a concussion, or if you really feel like getting serious, breaking your talus bone in your ankle hiking down from the worst run you’ve ever had at Tuckerman’s… in June… in the rain.  Being injured means you have an excuse to bitch and moan, play the sympathy card with the ladies, and make other people do shit for you.  Beware of the specific type of injury you intend to pursue though, as an aircast is to breathability as a trash bag is to lycra, so get used to hating humidity even more.  At least you’re not missing any skiing… unless you work for SASS, in which case you just screwed yourself out of the best skiing of the whole year.  Fuck.