Category Archives: Jill Adler’s Personal Blog

Don’t Ski Alone; Ski Alta

Ski Alta

If you hate skiing alone, you can’t be shy. I had the ultimate dilemma today. None of my friends could come out to play. It was a Tuesday; a work day for most and forecasters had called Wednesday the day to catch the Powder Flu; not today. Yet the 7 a.m. SkiUtah report touted 16 inches of new snow. The Cottonwood Canyon resorts finally reached over an 100″ base. You see, I couldn’t miss a day like today just because I didn’t have anyone to ski with.

Ski Alta

Often I lack motivation so if no one wants to ski, I stay home. But not on a serious powder day. Alta it was. The reason I chose Alta and the reason I choose that resort every time I ski alone is because I’m alone for about one run.

My friend Rachael jokes that I picked her up on the Collins Lift. I also met a good friend, Brad, one year in Catherine’s, and my fellow Parkite Sarah was cruising off Wildcat. Ten years later we still ski together; we also yard sale in the summer, go to dinner, and chat on Facebook. But it’s a Tuesday and no one was available. (Although they should be.)

As I pulled into the Rustler Lodge parking lot my anticipation for fresh tracks was growing along with the size of my bladder. I desperately needed a bathroom. It’s easy to make a pit stop without irritating your friends when you start your day by yourself. Soon, I was riding the Collins lift and looking around for other singles. One woman was heading in to chef at the Collins Grill. Another guy had one run before he too had to get back to work. No takers from the first chair ride so it was time to ski. I knew it would be great in Eagle’s Nest. Halfway down, there they were three ladies whooping it up and charging hard. Turns out their fearless leader -Susan Hagen- is a part-time instructor at Alta and the other two gals used to work up on the mountain in the old Watson Shelter. It was now or never. We were all panting and praising the 900 vertical we had just chewed up, with another 900 or so to come, below us. I said, “Hey, can I join you?” Only at Alta is the answer “yes” 100 percent of the time.

There’s something unique about this classic big mountain area located in the rear of Little Cottonwood Canyon. It holds the soul of skiers past and present – you never really feel alone in the first place. No other place in the Wasatch feels this communal. Singles skiing at other resorts seem to have an agenda and they are not to be bothered. At Alta, they’re happy to share their turns with strangers.

For the next two hours, we followed Susan through Regal Chute (twice), Eagle’s Nest, North Rustler and finally a hike up to the High Notch. The fresh snow was bottomless in most areas. It was tracked out quickly but still pillowy and forgiving. I made five runs, 8800 vertical, in two hours- including the hike. The peer factor. These ladies made me ski harder than I would if I was skiing with Ryan and definitely harder than if I was alone. Had that been the case I probably would have meandered down two runs and called it. This morning was filled with spirit, laughter, smiles, burning thighs and deep breaths as we carved up the deep spring powder that was both untracked and soft crud. At noon my new posse headed in. I waved goodbye but not before I got everyone’s last name and said I’d find them on Facebook. I wondered if they’ll be back on the hill tomorrow. If not I’ll just have to go back to Alta to make more ski buddies.

Ski Alta

When They Grow Up- Sage Turns 9

Whoa. I can’t remember feeling this low in a long time. Like I could cry if a telemarketer hung up on me.

Maybe it’s coming down from a crazy month of auditions, filming, the OR show, and Amelia. Or maybe it’s because my sweet, gorgeous, thoughtful, wise, huggable, smart, funny little baby turns 9 today.

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We’ve known for a long time that this day would come but it just really sucks. Even Sage came to us last night, crying so deeply she could hardly breathe. She begged to stay eight forever. We held her and said that there were so many things to look forward to so don’t be afraid to grow but I can’t help feeling like I was lying to her.

Every year of her life (except #3) has been amazing and I have no doubt we’ll find the joy in all of those to come (well perhaps 13-17 will need to be written off if they are anything like my teen years) but I tell ya, 8 was a pretty terrific age.

Sage has always been a precocious kid with tons of heart and a gift for gab. And because she’s an ‘only’ and my constant sidekick, she easily handles adult company and activities. I can bring her on set and she will sit quietly for hours until she’s called or until I’m wrapped- depending on the project. Now that she’s a grade schooler she’s even more my buddy.

When she was two and making a single straight run from the top of Deer Valley’s magic carpet then begging to go home, I never imagined that by 8 she would ski everywhere I do on the hill…at an expert level. If only she was strong enough to belay me I would never have to hunt for a climbing partner. So maybe that’s something to look forward to.

Before I had Sage, I would joke that the reason I never had kids was because I was afraid to have one of me. Sage is one pretty cool kid with a huge sensitive side (unlike her mom) who goes out of her way to engage others and take care of them. If I could bottle her up and keep her this way I just might but such is life that we can’t stop it.

How I got so lucky I have no idea. Happy Birthday, SAGE!! I too wish you could stay 8 forever but I can’t wait to meet the young lady you have yet to become.

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To My Dad On His Birthday

Today is my father’s birthday. I’d tell you how old he is but because both my parents are private people I doubt he’d be pleased with me. To be honest, I don’t feel like my dad is ever pleased with me but that’s just how things are in my family.

We grew up in a household where if you were praised it might be taken as a sign that you didn’t need to try any harder. Instead, we were encouraged (choosing to see this in the most positive light) to perpetually strive for an amorphous success and to never rest. Obviously greatness could never be achieved in my family.

I remember sharing with him my UCLA report card- once. It contained three As and two B+s. He angrily told me how lousy that was and how do I expect to get into veterinary school with those grades? The next quarter I ‘failed’ to tell him about my ‘F’ in the History of Ancient Greece and the change in my major to English. What was the point in harvesting that level of disappointment?

But the lessons sunk in and for that I am truly grateful. I’m unabashedly competitive, unrelenting in my endeavors and will not take ‘no’ from anyone not in a position to say ‘yes’. I’m resourceful, clever and aggressive if sometimes lacking in tact. Yes, I’m an underachiever in his eyes. And yet others often compliment me on “living the life.” What’s that saying about not having expectations then you can never be disappointed? My folks don’t know that one.

My dad never stopped. A skilled orthopedic surgeon, attorney, trumpet player, classical guitarist with a voice like Bing Crosby, a voracious intellect, passionate skier and traveler, told jokes to make crowds laugh and even performed jaw dropping close-up magic at office parties. Even his lemon trees burst with fruit. I was doomed to fail by comparison. If I had to write an essay on the most influential person in my life it would have to be my dad. The good and the bad, loving because of, in spite of, despite of. And even with all of our rocky interactions I know he’s there for me like no other and I could never stop loving him. He’s the one person that can call me “Baby’ (which has happened only twice in my life) and melt my heart the way only dads can.

I’m sure he’s grumbling right now about how I didn’t send him a birthday card or buy him a gift that he would more than likely give away anyway. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “You keep it” after I’ve searched high and low to find the ‘perfect’ gift. On father’s day this year I sent a photo of the two of us as a canvas print.

He said he didn’t like how he looked and “it’s sitting on a shelf ‘somewhere’. Sometimes he comes around. I bought him a sweet fleece zip jacket and he tried to give it to Ryan but we refused to take it back. Later, my mom told me he wears it all the time. That took about six months.

So I decided to write this post as a birthday gift. He can’t return it, he can’t wear it but he can read it as many times as he wants… or never. I hope he knows how much I love him and how much of him is inside of me.

I found this video on YouTube several months ago and it instantly brought tears to my eyes because it reminded me so much of my father. I know that he has an Eddie inside him. It’s what makes him beautiful and timeless. I love you, Dad. Happy Birthday!

 

Taking Down The Gunman- Front Sight Self Defense Training Day 2

 

Ryan’s digging this a little too much. It’s great to see him excited and smiling after copping a dower attitude about work and two months of studying for the CFA exam. But not at my expense. The coach came around to check on us; to see if we understood the ‘superman’ move. We were supposed to extend our arms like Superman as the ‘perp’ came at us with a baseball bat from overhead. One hand would strike the side of his neck, the other would wrap over and around his forearm. Once the elbow was locked you would take your neck hand and administer a palm strike, knee the femur, the groin, the stomach, the head. Once they’re buckled over you switch the position of your hand on his neck, step your leg behind theirs and push him back onto his back and the ground. Except as the coach watched, Ryan gleefully slammed his hand into my neck and sent me reeling before ever completing the over moves. The coach said two things before moving on- “Are you okay?” and “Now you know what it feels like.” Yeah, not good.

And so for the rest of the night I kept my distance.

All of a sudden the Range Master is rapid firing the tactics and moves from wiggling out of a back grab, twisting the perp’s arm and getting them face down on the ground to disarming a gun. It starts to feel more like a demo than an instruction course but I try to keep up. Some of the moves (if done swiftly and correctly) are surprisingly easy.

But it can be confusing. I’m a doer not a watcher when it comes to learning so I don’t get it unless there’s a coach right there next to me to “adjust me”. Depending on where you stand on the mat there can be a huge lag between watching the demo and having a coach watch you. I certainly wasn’t going to practice the wrong way to do something, so with only five or six coaches walking around, there were long pauses in the action. By Day 3 this would be fine; I could use the rest. But tonight I wanted to play. I would grab one the minute he was nearby- “Can you help us?” Their corrections were swift. You felt the pressure to engrain it in your memory pronto because he was already on to the next group. All of the coaches are easy to follow and talk to, there just aren’t enough of them for our group. It should be more like one to six not one to 26. Ryan doesn’t like to ‘bother’ people but if it was simply up to me I would have them around me the whole night.

Perhaps it felt rushed because of the holiday. Fourth of July. Most of Front Sight’s courses are during the day but in the summer when temps loom around 103, classes start at 6 p.m. and end at 12:30 a.m. On the night of July 3 we ended at 10:30 p.m. for a special address by our fearless leader. Ignatius Piazza himself- made a rare personal appearance to address the student body before kicking off the Fourth with the first fireworks display of the holiday at 12:01 a.m. We got a pep talk about our Founding Fathers and what it means to be American. I was surprised to find the aggressive online marketer charming and self-effacing. He actually joked about his constant email campaigns for membership money.

 

When we stepped outside behind our workout tent we could finally relax and appreciate the end of our two-day empty hand defense course. As I watched the bombs bursting in air the irony hit me. We are celebrating our freedom while we learn to defend it so aggressively. It sucks that others can’t leave us alone. Even other Americans.

 

Empty Hand Defense at Front Sight Institute

I felt a little nauseous smelling meatballs in a tureen at 11 a.m. As I hobbled down the buffet line at the Saddlewest Hotel I didn’t feel hungry, just abused. And in desperate need of coffee. I’m dragging. We made it straight to Frontsight Thursday without a minute to spare. Vegas in 6 hours? Crazy; but now that there’s an 80 mph speed limit it messes me up in a good way.

Our night courses at the gun training compound were starting at 6 p.m. Sage’s youth class (aka adventure summer camp for 100 kids) was just starting so we quickly signed in, kissed her bye and made our own way to our Empty Hand Defense class without wasting a minute in the 103 degree heat. After signing all sorts of waivers, we were introduced to our coaches. They were like those masters who guide the newbies in some reality show. Martial Arts hall of famers, former military, combat specialists. Basically, tough MFs.

We stretched for nearly 30 minutes and I was already feeling the torque before the punches flew. Uh oh, I’m not in shape for this. I looked around at the class of 100+ Front Sight members. They ranged in age from 18 to 70. Men, women, skinny and large. “You will all be feeling this in the morning,” our range master boomed. Aleve is our friend.

The point of our empty hand defense class is to learn how to get away or neutralize the bad guy- whichever gets us home in one piece. It’s not to crush the other guy. As Front Sight demonstrated several times on Thursday night and Friday, it’s a fine line between defending yourself and getting arrested for assault. They talked to us about being aware of our surroundings instead of “Condition White” (ie Clueless). Condition Yellow – not defensive or aggressive- is what we want; neutral and sure. Confident. A stranger approaches; we practiced stepping back, bringing the palms up and out in front of our chest. “Stand back!” is the first warning. Step back again, “Stand back!” louder for defensive posture 2. Then, into a fighting stance.

We learned the correct body position for jabs, crosses and upper cuts. I tried them all, over and over, switching from dominant side to support side; feeling like a boxer in the Special Olympics.

My arms were sore from punching air but then it was time to punch pads. I held mine tightly for Ryan and yet he still hit so hard I was getting bumped around and scuffed. I switched with a girl next to me so Ryan could ‘fight’ a guy and leave my poor shoulder alone.

Trachea jabs, hammer hits, palm strikes. I was starting to run out of steam by 9 p.m. yet we had only scratched the surface of self-defense. They can only teach the bare minimum in two days. Several students had taken this class before yet none could remember everything. One man told us that if you recall even one maneuver it could save your life.

I really liked the straight fingers to the neck move. I’ll remember that one!

After our break, we worked our lower half with kicks then learned two moves to get us out of a bearhug from behind. Oh yeah, I was feeling the hurt. We drove to the Saddlewest Hotel chatting about how the moves would work in real life. We checked in and despite the two-star surroundings, the bed was soft and inviting. We immediately passed out. It was 2 a.m. and another day was coming on fast.

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