A weekly column by Chris Casula (a real dude). 

 I wanted to be a Space Cadet. I didn’t know what the day-to-day responsibilities of a Space Cadet looked like per se, but I was pretty sure that they wore helmets and carried ray guns.  A year or so later, I was drawing pictures of myself in a wetsuit wielding a spear- gun; I wanted to be a Marine Biologist. I knew even less about what they actually did.  At first glance, these two potential career paths appear to be fairly dissimilar.  It’s taken me roughly 15 years—rife with endless soul-searching and self-help books—to understand that I haven’t ever really wanted to do anything other than wear a stylish (albeit functional) outfit while risking my life.  I suppose then that, in retrospect, my next two life-plans weren’t all that surprising.

 A happen chance late night viewing of the 1993 seminal classic Aspen Extreme on HBO changed everything.  From the first slow-mo sequence (of the roughly 476) featuring neon ski apparel, Bob Seger, and double helicopters, I knew that I’d end up in some western ski town where I’d chase around some guarded and jaded woman who wore wool headbands*.  Some of that has come to pass.  What I didn’t know then is that before I got there, I’d end up in some project alley chasing around dope.

   This is the story about how those two things bumped into one another.  This is the story about how each of those two things almost killed me.  But mostly, this is the story of how skiing saved my life.

 *NOTE:  This dream was momentarily eclipsed after a happen chance late night viewing of Airborne on HBO