Poseurs and Egg, Olympics

No, I’ve never cooked that or made a sandwich with it. There was a poser who used to buy clothing and gear for a sport, try the sport for two days, probably looking for someone. Then he’d give it up and choose a new outfit, new sport.

I was taught that one tries tennis or cycling or XC skiing before buying a wardrobe for a sport one will never do.

Telling that story about The Great Pretender at breakfast on the slopes at  Snowbird, years ago, I saw the back of a man at the buffet table dressed in this closely fitted neon yellow ski suit. It was too perfect.

I said to my family,”who does this guy think he is, Jean-Claude Killy?” Neighboring tables all remarked that Jean-Claude Killy was in the house. Egg, on my face. He certainly was not a poseur, and deserved the uniform he spent a lifetime achieving during the Olympics and otherwise, and I only wished to get off the bunny hill and see him ski. No, I did not dress for the occasion, sadly as jeans didn’t make it in that kind of weather. Plus lack of oxygen.

Said friend of a friend was too enervating for me to take me, as a friend, into his fake world. I said farewell to the friend of a friend, but still love Jean-Claude Killy and his compatriots on the slopes. I can try to be an artist at writing and cooking and work, but I cannot touch their world. Dee

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