Early Years in Finland
My name is Hansa, and if you had told my younger self that I’d turn out to be a pretty good skier enjoying the world’s top resorts, I’d have laughed in your face. Sports? Oh no, I was the artsy, science-loving, cat-obsessed girl. Imagine my surprise when I found out ski boots aren’t a bizarre art installation! Don’t get me wrong, I still adore cats. But now, instead of scratching those cats, I’m swooshing down slopes and trying to catch the attention of those Instagram-perfect snowflakes. Who knew this former bookworm would turn into a snow bunny?
I grew up in Finland, supposedly the happiest place on earth. (Take that, Disneyland!) The town of Ylivieska boasted a whopping 13,000 residents, while my home village, Raudaskyla, was a mere 6 miles away. Picture flatlands as far as the eye can see. We did have one local ski hill about a kilometer from my home, with a rope tow that felt like an extreme sport all on its own. I held on for dear life more than once, and let me tell you, it was a thrilling ride—like being dragged up the hill by an overenthusiastic reindeer on roller skates!
As any proper Finnish person, I was practically born with cross-country skis on my feet. Forced to love it? Absolutely. The only reason I won any school ski competitions was because there were only two girls in my class—instant silver medalist! Just call me the Serena Williams of showing up.
From the Kansas of Finland to the Rocky Mountains
Fast forward: I studied in Helsinki, earned a pharmacy degree, and made new friends who introduced me to a Medieval recreation group called SCA (Society of Creative Anachronism – think Knights in Shiny Armor). Absolutely zero connection to skiing. That’s how I met my first husband, got married, and moved to Colorado. Fun fact: Colorado outlasted the marriage. I was a desperate spinster who married for all the wrong reasons, proving that even a knight in shiny armor can’t fix poor life choices.
I was pondering my next move when one of my coworkers had a brilliant idea: “Why not try downhill skiing? After all, you’re in Colorado!” Because, you know, nothing says “healing a broken heart” quite like strapping on some skis and hurtling down a mountain at breakneck speed. Who needs therapy when you can flirt with frostbite and gravity instead?
Ski School – Love at the First Sight
Not what you’re thinking! I fell head over heels for downhill skiing during my very first lesson in Breckenridge. Back then, Breckenridge Ski School had an irresistible deal for a season pass that gave you nearly unlimited ski lessons from Thursday to Sunday. Yes, you heard that right. This was about 20 years ago when you could still find deals on skiing. No epic or iconic prices that leave you wondering if you just bought a small mountain!
Every Friday evening, I crammed my car full of gear and hunted down the cheapest motel near the slopes. Think “Bates Motel” but with more ski racks. I’d wake up at the crack of dawn to be the first one on the lifts, getting in some warm-up runs before the ski school lineup. By the way, it’s never too late to learn a new skill. I was in my 30s at the time, proving that you can teach an old dog new tricks—or at least how to fall gracefully on snow!
Looking for a Tall Guy to Ski with
After a few weekends of ski school, I finally felt comfortable navigating blue runs and thought, “Why not find a ski buddy?” So, I posted a profile on Match.com. Before I knew it, I had a ski date with my now-husband, Mike, at Vail. The details of that ski day are a bit foggy, but I do remember laughing a lot. Apparently, Cupid wears ski boots and carries a pole.
Now, 20 years later, we still ski together! I was an eager ski student, and Mike was a saint-level patient teacher. I’m certain he repeated the same instructions over and over and over again, like a human ski tutorial on loop. But hey, eventually, it all started to sink in—just like my face in the snow when I missed a turn!
So how did Hansa become Karen
Absolutely, skiing has evolved dramatically over the past 20 years. Thanks to Icon and Epic passes, it’s become more like a winter amusement park. Social media turned the slopes into a selfie battlefield, with everyone vying for the perfect snow-capped profile picture. Throw in the generational mix—from fearless Gen Z daredevils to the cautious Boomers—and you have quite the chaotic scene. And let’s not forget the most crucial factor in this transformation: the complete and utter disappearance of common sense. Because why not check your brain at the lodge when you can check-in online
Do people ski like they drive their cars? I can’t help but wonder. You know, those folks who just have to pass you only to slam on the brakes right in front of you, or the tailgaters who seem to think personal space is optional. It’s like we’re all starring in a high-speed winter version of “Fast & Furious.” Sure, the Colorado Skiers and Snowboarders Code is posted on every lift, but does anyone actually read it? I imagine most people are too busy contemplating their next Instagram post or figuring out how to take a selfie without dropping their phone in the snow.
This isn’t exactly groundbreaking news. Just yesterday, Vail Daily unearthed a 70s article about wild skiing antics and rebellious rope-tugging. It’s like the skiing version of “hold my beer.” Too often, I witness skiers and snowboarders boldly venturing into areas way beyond their skill level, straight-lining through despite “No Straightlining” or “Slow Zone” signs. I guess turning is just a casual suggestion. They head to Blue Sky Basin or the Legendary Back Bowls, but the only turns they make are in their life decisions. The evidence? A trail of goat tracks messing up a pristine run, like an avant-garde art installation gone wrong.
As I was contemplating life’s mysteries on a ski lift a few days ago, I had a horrifying epiphany. I’ve turned into a full-blown Karen. Yes, I’m that person. So what’s next on my Karen checklist? Do I start demanding to speak to the manager of the mountain? Should I file a formal complaint with the snow for being too cold? Honestly, I might as well embrace it and start issuing citizen’s citations for poor skiing etiquette. It’s a slippery slope, but at least I’m well-equipped to handle it!