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When I was growing up, the middle of March meant two things: March Madness and snow skiing. 

More often than not, during my high school and college years, we took a family trip west to ski the big mountains. My dad would always invite others to go with us, and the hodge podge group of Southerners would take on a western mountain. We would ski from the moment the lifts started turning to when they stopped. In the evenings, we would watch basketball, and the older men would stretch and tend to their sore muscles. 

While watching Chris Paul play for the Demon Deacons as a junior in high school, I entertained the thought that I could play at the collegiate level. I wasn’t any good at basketball, but these guys were older than me, and I had plenty of time to catch up on their skills. Ah, the hopefulness of youth. 

During the commercial breaks, the old men would groan while stretching or rolling out sore legs and backs to prepare for the next day. I told myself I would never let a day of skiing do that to me. To their credit, they skied hard every day. 

A hot tub on site was non-negotiable. I thought it was because of the social aspect of the trip, but then I took a ski trip two months before my 40th birthday. 

Mid-March still suits my family’s travel schedule. During the kids’ spring break, we snuck out to Colorado for a few days of skiing. While watching March Madness on the television at our connecting flight gate, I thought back to those ski trips decades ago. 

In the time that had passed, I realized my NCAA basketball dreams probably disappeared when the last Bush left the Oval Office. However, I was still more than capable of skiing for a few days with my kids. I continue to reach for athletic goals to keep me moving. I work to lift heavier weights, run faster, or lift lighter weights for longer periods. I train to keep up with my kids and, hopefully, one day, my grandkids. 

After the first day of skiing, my left knee started talking to me. It wasn’t saying stop, just encouraging me to slow down. That evening, I walked gingerly to the hot tub with my kids. They immediately began to play while I started stretching and moving the aching ligament in the hot water. In between winces and sighs, we talked about our favorite runs and goals for the week. 

After thirty minutes, we got out. To my surprise, my knee had stopped talking. Walking up the stairs to the condo, no pain greeted me at the first step. Immediately, I realized why the hot tub was nonnegotiable growing up. It was therapeutic with the added bonus of socializing.

The next few nights, a therapeutic soak made the following days better. After talking and thinking in the hot tub, I realized I am closer to the “old men” groaning during a stretch while watching basketball than to my younger self, thinking he could play in college. At the end of the day, though, I am still thankful to be able to push my body, even if it requires a hot tub soak at the end of the day. 

If you want to try something new to keep moving, check out CrossFit Krypton of the Carolinas, one of the author’s regular workout spots for anyone of any fitness level.