Pro skiing is about being a professional both on and off the hill. In this episode, up-and-coming athletes and big name pros including Griffin Post, Matt Annett, Jess Baker, and Kit DesLauriers, discuss the ups and downs of sponsorship. Welcome to the business world.

Who knows where I’ll be in 10 years? I don’t. I’m potentially missing out on years of significant financial gains by pursuing skiing rather than a higher degree and a conventional career. This could all turn out to be a huge waste of my time; this could also lead to something great. The future holds no guarantees, and the idea of “waiting till later” can only lead to regret. So bring on menial serving jobs and serious gym time, I don’t know if it’s worth it, but I know it’s definitely worth one hell of a try! Check out our first episode of the Monster Factory!

For more Monster Factory, check them out  here: http://mountainmonsterfactory.tumblr.com

Here is a sneak peek at an upcoming 10-month series by Handman Productions, a Jackson Hole-based video production company, that focuses on Mountain Athlete’s freeskier training program. The series will highlight elite professionals and talented up-and-comers as they train four days a week from June until the snow flies in November—and juggle the rest of life. Whether they’re slinging burgers and beer to pay for the next comp, putting their professional careers on the back burner, or spending lonely months recovering from injuries, these skier’s lives are about more than “pow and PBR.” (Words by Skinet.com)

Transitions are hard. The end of ski season is the worst. I wish I could wax poetic on my latest “gnarly” mountain bike sesh, or talk about how I did a “rad” trad climb (is that even right?), but I can’t. I am a winter child through and through. Summer hiking is nice; actually, I love hiking, but it pales in comparison to the love I have for the sensation of skis blasting through snow. Come powder, corn, or ice I’ll ski them all. Alas, it is summer and all I can do right now is reminisce and dream about winter.

Scratch that.

Sure, I’m dreaming about neck deep powder days, but dreaming is a waste of time without work. So, I’m working for winter in more ways than one.

1) I’m working OUT

For my body’s sake, I made the move to Jackson, WY to train at Mountain Athlete. This is no ordinary gym. I train with a group of about 20 skiers, among them are olympians, ski film stars, and world-renowned mountain guides. (I’m going to name drop for a second just because the excitement of training with Resi Steigler, Kit Deslauriers, Griffin Post, Crystal Wright, and all of my ripping co-competitors hasn’t quite become old hat yet.) These workouts are no joke. Our training is a ski-specific progression of strength and agility. We’re just finishing up four weeks of basic strength training so, who knows what this next phase will bring.

I’ve also recommitted myself to yoga. I think it’s a great compliment to strength training. It’s more affordable than a post-workout massage and it’s a great tool for injury prevention.

2) I’m working IN

I’m a total head case when it comes to sports and competition. I close my eyes, I choke, I forget to breath, I panic, I overthink. I’ve always been this way, and it’s taken me this long to finally get proactive and do something about it. Better late than never. Between learning meditation and reading up on sport psychology, I’ve taken matters into my own hands. A strong body is useless without a sound mind.

I’ll take that one step further and say that a strong mind and body can’t function on a crappy diet. I’ve reigned in my eating habits as well. Apart from one glorious cheat day per week, I’m keeping it clean with meat, fish, fruits, veggies, nuts, and seeds. Little bit of dairy, no sugar, no processed food…you’ve heard my shpeal before, so now I’m back to practicing what I preach.

3) WORKING

Did I mention my multi-million dollar contract that allows me to ski everyday and travel the world? No? Oh, well that’s because I don’t have one. NBA, MLB, NFL level salaries do not exist in skiing. It is merely a labor of love and passion, but love and passion don’t pay the rent checks. Enter my three summer jobs: Serving, Serving, and Wrangling. While the serving jobs are the money makers, I figured it would be great to be paid to enjoy a hobby of mine, and it just happens that that hobby is horseback riding. YeeHaw!

To say my summer is busy is an understatement. But I’d rather be busy working than daydreaming. The things worth having take time, and come December I can’t wait to see all of my grunt work pay off.

Dear “Adults”,

Make up your minds already! Seriously.

Am I too young to know what’s best for me? Or, too old to go after my “unconventional” dreams?

Am I a “child” who refuses to grow up? Or an “adult” who should “know better”?

Is life so short that I’m really “wasting” my time? Or is there “so much more to come” that following my passions now is but a blink in the scheme of a larger life?

Come on! I’m asking YOU.  Out of love and good faith you’ve volunteered advice to no end, but had you kept a record maybe you would see how I’ve become so confused.

I HAVE DREAMS – Thanks to you and others who’ve come before me and pushed the limits of possibility. I don’t know why this should come as a surprise. After all, from day one I’ve been told to “shoot for the moon” “reach for the stars” and “give 100%”. I must’ve missed the fine print accompanying these words of encouragement that said: “* aforementioned words only applicable to realistic goals when given to persons over the age of 18. Realistic goals defined as job requiring academic certification with a net salary of at least $100,000/year. **Must include house with white-picket fence and marriage before the age of 30.”

Why is the right to dream reserved for children? Is the 20-year old mark the peak of my existence only to be followed by a methodical downhill towards death? Sorry to sound grim, but I just want one good reason why I should give up on a dream that gets me up in the morning and keeps my heart and mind open to a world of possibility and inspiration.

Don’t worry. I have it all in perspective. It might not be your perspective, but I’ve taken inventory and I know where I stand.

A surfer knows the pull of the ocean as a musician knows the feeling behind their music. Right now I know that my heart belongs to the mountains. I am a skier, adventurer, impressionable being, who wants to know what else is out there before I decide which direction I’ll take.

Who knows? I might be cut out for “conventional” after all, and when I decide I am I’ll give it the same commitment and I’ll embrace it as I do my dreams, because I’ll have a new challenge and a new goal.

My dreams are not a waste; they’ve been guided by your words of wisdom. I haven’t settled into the mundane and gone by the book. Instead I’ve been creative. I’ve been dedicated. I’ve pushed my limits. I’ve persevered. I’ve failed. I’ve gotten back up. And you know what? I’ll probably fail a few more times before I get it right.

My one regret from ski racing was my fear of falling. I could not commit because I was scared. I stayed on my feet and went through the motions. I learned, believe me I learned the shit out of racing. But I never pushed my boundaries or saw what was possible beyond what I knew. The first time I crash-landed off of a park jump, everything I had learned my whole life clicked. Failing was not scary; it was enlightening.

I wouldn’t be a “ski bum” working towards a professional skiing career right now if I never gave myself a chance to fall. I’d be walking the line to safety and security. I’d have a different challenge and different set of goals, and you’d better bet your ass I’d “give them 100%”. Of course with any challenge comes a chance of failure, but the failure wouldn’t be as great or as literal as what I’m learning now.

“Adults”, I understand why it makes you queasy to watch me walk a tightrope, when with every step I risk failure, falling, and costly consequences. But if the stove is hot I’ll just have to find out for myself how hot it really is. Along with your fears and skepticism, you’ve also voiced your own regrets. I’ve heard those too and I refuse to let you forget them. I won’t miss out, and I won’t “wait till later” because “later” is the biggest gamble out there.

So “Adults”, I just wanted to let you know I’ve been listening. I’ve considered everything you’ve said whether it was solicited advice or not. I’ve considered it, stored it, utilized it. Despite my difficulty in deciphering your conflicting advice, my response is this: Thank you for caring enough to worry, but I’ve got this; I’ve accepted the risk and I’m going to giv’er hell.

As I front-flipped violently with a mouth full of snow, all I could think was “Damnit! my turkey sandwich is so squished.” It was also, “Shit! I should have sent that air a little more to the right!” and, “Head? – check! Neck?- check! Extremities? -good to go!”, and of course “Now where the F*** are my skis?!”

My 2014 competition season came down to one run on Headwaters at Big Sky Resort (formerly Moonlight Basin) in Montana. When I met the Headwaters last season, I was a couple weeks out from a helmet-shattering concussion which plagued me with a paralyzing fear of falling. The Headwaters venue is a scree field. For those of you who don’t know what “scree” is, it’s a mound of various sizes of shard-like rocks. They’re unforgiving little bastards, poking up through the snow or hiding just beneath waiting to grab you.

So this final competition of the season put me face to face with fears that had gotten the best of me in the past.

Here’s my two-cents on fear: I don’t mind it at all. I’ve accepted the fact that lots of things scare me; some rational and others completely irrational. (Knife-ridges, heights, and spiders are my biggest pitfalls.) Fear is OK. Fear is where opportunity meets common sense. I don’t see a problem with considering the risks of failure. If it’s within my ability to meet and conquer my fear then —Bring it On! I’ll send it, all while shaking in my boots.

The twisted cousin of fear is regret. Unlike fear, which I hold close to my heart, regret can stay the hell away from me. There really is nothing worse or more damning. To think you could’ve done better is such a kick in the ass; fear doesn’t haunt you the way regret does. At my last two competitions I’ve found myself sidled with that old bully Regret. I’ve sat at the bottoms of venues, staring back after my run wondering if it was enough, only to find that the judges did not think so. Time after time I’ve changed my plans mid-run and let my fear win.

With one competition between me and the end of the season, I refused to go out on regret. Let me be clear, there’s a distinction between regret and hindsight. There will always be hindsight, and it will always be 20/20, but regret needn’t accompany it. I chose my line after careful inspection through binoculars (visual inspection only is a whole new ball game, FYI). The snow conditions were of the confidence boosting kind – soft, solid base – totally send-able. And finally, a friend called me the night before to remind me “what did I have to lose?” and most importantly to “keep my eyes open!”

Well, they got me. Those sharky, scree bastards grabbed the back of my ski on my take-off and sent me into an impressive series of front flips down the venue. In hindsight, was I disappointed? Sure. Who wouldn’t be? I picked a line within my ability and skied strong until my fall, and being the last competition of the season I would’ve loved to have stayed on my feet. But regret? Nah. Not the kind of disappointment I’d found earlier in the season. I stuck to my guns, and this time everything made a little more sense.

Every once in a while, falling is a great reminder of what it feels like to really push your comfort zone. There’s opportunity and enlightenment in failure. And if I never give myself the opportunity to fall, when am I going to practice my quadruple front flips?

See You Next Season FWQ 2015. Game on!