Tomorrow at midnight, I will stand alongside 464 skiers preparing to make the 40-mile, middle-of-the-night trek, complete with 6,800 vertical feet of climbing, from Crested Butte to Aspen as part of the 21st Grand Traverse.

What, did you think I was planning to race? Not this year. An excursion like that off the couch is a recipe for new and creative cuss words and severe injury to one’s pride.

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