I am not naturally tempermentally inclined toward downhill skiing. I adore the mountains - give me miles and miles of trail, a water bottle, and a good pair of runners and I'm in heaven, but this business of falling down a steep hill in semi-controlled fashion runs absolutely counter to my nature. Nevertheless, one can't live in Whistler without skiing, so I have persisted (or rather, Rob has persisted in shoving me out the door.) I am therefore happy to report that for the first time this season, I felt a sense of genuine joy and anticipation on the ride up that almost entirely obliterated the customary anxiety.
Perhaps this is what all the fuss is about.