MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Fall 2018

84 ML BLUE FALL 2018 With Downhill, you just let your skis go, and hope for the best.” Mary rolls her eyes. “She still skis too fast.” Louisa retorts: “ She skis faster than I do!” And why haven’t they slowed down? How have they made it well into their seventh decade on skis? Louisa thinks it’s simple tenacity. “If you love something, you find a way to keep doing it.” But after a number of conversations with these two, another factor emerges: a positive attitude. Try as I might, I’m unable to pry from either woman a single complaint or health grumble. No sore muscles. No arthritis. Nary a bunion rears its ugly head. Sure, Louisa has broken a bone or two on the slopes. But senior gripes? They shush away my questions with flicks of their fingers; there are more important topics to discuss. Did they tell me yet about sharing lift tickets—and getting caught in the act by Blue Mountain Resort founder Jozo Weider? Or about a 65-year- old Louisa drawing wolf-whistles from a chairlift while she “boogie-woogied down the hill in my best powder position”? There’s simply no room for complaints in their world. The skiing culture that brings so many of us together is what these two both embrace and embody—Mary with her iconic Swiss-style chalet, built in 1963 and filled with memorabilia of a life well-skied, and Louisa with her non-stop grins and anecdotes. “I’ve lived a good life,” Louisa sighs with content. I stop myself from correcting her—from reminding her she’s living a good life. Louisa will have a knee replaced this fall, with the hope that it buys her that much more time on the hill. How long? Long enough to find herself sitting next to Mary on the lift when she tells a stranger she’s 100, and for once isn’t pulling their leg. LEFT Louisa Vaillancourt skis Zermatt. COURTESY LOUISA VAILLANCOURT. ABOVE Mary Trillo's family ski pass corkboard. COURTESY MARY TRILLO Both women discovered Blue, barn dances, and sing-songs in the late 1950s, indulging in late-night partying at the men’s lodging house, the floor gummy with years of spilt beer.

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