With exactly three weeks to go before I arrive in Crested Butte, I thought it would be wise to see if I even remember how to ski. Sitting on my couch in Cincinnati, I seriously doubted it, and my ravaged knees redoubled that doubt. So, last night, I went out to the hills of Indiana to find out if I should even bother with lift tickets in Colorado. Luckily, even after a three year break from the slopes, I still could make it down 400 vertical feet without falling or stopping.
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