The Basin T-bar pulled me out of the valley, slow and mechanical, snow whispering under the drag. The morning was bright, the air sharp, the kind of winter light that makes you forget about pain. My right knee had been swelling since morning, but I had been ignoring it. A rusty joint was not going to cut this trip short. Not here. Not now.

Halfway up, an old guy slid in beside me, eighty years young, strong as braided rope, grinning like the mountain was his backyard. “Lovely day for it,” he said, steady as a metronome on the climb. At half his age, I knew I could not let a knee be my excuse.

We switched to Karels, bound for The View, a lazy traverse with a panorama that could crack your chest open. Up top, another veteran of the slopes came carving past, stopping just long enough to take a photo beside me. I was still peeling off my gloves, fumbling for my phone. “Nice day for it,” she said, before tipping her skis over the edge and diving straight down a cliffside that was not a trail so much as a dare.

I stood there, knee throbbing, heart thudding, grinning like a fool. One day, I thought, I want to be like them, fit, fearless, chasing winter long after the calendar says I should have slowed down. They had taught me something without even meaning to: how to keep showing up, how to stay in love with the wide-open world.

Check out the close-up!