Skiing has been all consuming in my life for as long as I can remember and my love for the sport matured alongside one of the closest friendships I have ever known: Mike, my partner in crime, my confidant and my brother. On Saturday, February 1^st, 2014, Mike and his roommate Harrison were on an ordinary tour in Hatcher’s Pass, Alaska. As is typical in the Talkeetnas in mid-March, it was a cold and clear morning; the type which freezes your toes in the quick transfer from your sneakers to your boots. The tour up to the Jupiter bowl is a classic. The trail follows an old hiking path that cuts through an abandoned mine and snakes along the edge of a lake. It was a favorite of ours because of the fantastic views of Denali and the fast open bowls that run back to the car.

On this day, the usually tranquil tour would become anything but when Mike collapsed suddenly on the backside of the bowl. He had suffered a massive heart attack, caused by an undiagnosed heart defect. After twenty fruitless minutes of CPR, Harrison rigged a sled from Mike’s skis and began to drag him the three miles back to the car. Four hours later, Mike was pronounced dead at the hospital at the age of 23.

In the moments following, I received a call from Harrison. The excitement of hearing from my old friend disintegrated as soon as I pressed the phone to my ear. It was difficult to distinguish any words through his tears. He stopped to compose himself, and with tremors in his voice, whispered, “Mike is dead”. Confused, all I could utter in response was, “what?” I had clearly heard him, but I couldn’t believe it was true. There was silence on the line and in that unspoken moment we could feel each other’s pain. There was nothing more to be said, so we ended the call with a melancholy promise to talk soon.

I looked down at my dog as he nuzzled deeper into the side of my leg and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. But it wasn’t a sadness I felt inside, rather emptiness, like part of my self had suddenly been ripped out leaving an unfillable void. However, it was not yet time to cry; so I turned off my phone and headed back to Alaska.

Usually, I don’t have any problem sleeping on planes, but my mind was restless. That weekend I was giving a eulogy for a man who words could not accurately describe. I found it more fitting to share one of our adventures instead; a moment in which Mike had unintentionally changed my life. One February night in North Conway, several years ago, Mike and I had made plans to tour Mt. Washington and ski the ice-fall first thing in the morning. We woke up early and made it to the base by 6am. A short time later we had made it to the bottom of “Chute” and were transitioning from skinning to boot-packing. It was a cold, wispy morning and my buff was coated in a hardened, wind-blown snow. I was tired, blistered and uncomfortable. About half way up the chute, Mike looked back at me to find my head down, taking one step at a time and hoping for the sun to come up and finally warm my bones. He yelled down at me, “Pick your head up; don’t let life pass you by”. I looked up in angst, as if he was patronizing me. But when I did the sun began to peak over the mountains to the east illuminating the snowflakes blowing through the cold mountain air. It was that morning sparkle that we always hope to catch, but rarely do; one of those moments that makes the struggle worth it.  His words would stick with me for the rest of my life as I watched him live happy and carefree.

After the funeral, I headed straight to Hatcher’s. I traded my suit and tie for boots and skis and took the lonely tour up to Jupiter bowl just before sunset. As I sat at the top, staring hopelessly at Denali to my West, I removed my precious cargo from my pack; two cold PBRs. I cracked them both, and as I took my first sip, I poured the other out into the snow which had claimed Mike’s life. It would be the last beer I would ever have with my best friend.

My remaining week in Alaska would bring some of my best ski days of the season. I was surrounded by good friends, cold beer and my touring setup. I was determined to live my life the way Mike would have wanted, happily. While he may be gone, he lives on in all of the hearts he’s touched, and every turn I take, he takes with me. When I think of him, I’ll always remember the quote above his desk, “Don’t give up, don’t ever give up” – Jim Valvano. So, keep on shredding with a smile on your face and Mike in your heart. If life happens, pick your head up; don’t let the world pass you by, and get out there and spread some stoke.

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.