Hey there!

Intrinsic to my seemingly lasting impressions on people over the years, are my words. I dont, really, know where they come from or why, for that matter, they spill out in such hoards effectively annoying, intriguing, or potentially humoring the slues of peeps i am typically surrounded with. I suppose if it is what i think it is, a natural, God-given, zesty enterprise dripping with longing to be exploited, then i shall. Believe you me, my intentions with my own innate verbosity dance loudly at the height of ambition, yet my outline for occupational domination is one i have yet to compose. I've simply picked a star on the dark horizon and put one foot in front of the other.

SKIING!! For love of the game.
Some people have questioned in the past why I tendered my resignation within the competitive environment of the Ski World, and I would like to take this time to expand on that querie. To put it plainly, it wasnt for me. One thing life has taught me thus far is that attaining momentary joy through something naturally embedded in one's capabilities can quickly equate into a general, and longer lasting happiness. For me, that Joy is carving switch off of groomed takeoffs on a sunny day in Cali, dumping back flips off manageable cliffs and windlips, sucking my knees up high-speed over a roller.... Seeing all that is around me in a mountain environment and making my choice, THAT is my pleasure, that freedom scratches the one place on my back that i cant reach. And it was that feeling of Joy which feuled my talent, it was the shouting and hollering of my bros that swept me away, and it was the times that companies saw me basking in this brilliant sunlight of freedom and expression that brought sponsors and a professional career.

Competing for me was a constriction. Comps like the US Open in Vail year after year began to strangle my Joy with expectations and assumptions, silence the enthusiasm of my friends around me through tension, pressure, and focus. The incendiary early season sessions in Mammoth were all but forgotten, or twisted into something that to me, they were not... Merely practice for the "Big Game". But I could not justify calling something that was supremely good "just a preparation" for something that was as joyless for me as the first day of qualifying. It simply didn't compute in my mind. And please don't get me wrong, the feeling of moving on, the intensity of finals, and the nerves that silence at the foot of confidence fueling resolve in an onward dash to victory are feelings comparable only to rapturous love and conquest. It's that triumphant "Tang" on the tongue of a champion that no doubt drives the eager hearts of Simon, T.J., Colby, and Jon. But that taste seemed to elude me, and I learned quickly but only gradually accepted that I am not a strong competitor. I include the word gradually, because despite the fact that I could feel the hatred of my failed performances in pursuit of glory brewing deep, I was caught in my own prideful optimism, a kind of denial of my own nature and need for the joy that freeskiing brought. I wasn't about to say "No" to competition itself and let it get the best of me. I also, was not about to stop expecting that eventual win that would catapult me into a world where sponsors all wanted me, a world where i could adopt a new persona that wouldn't have to worry in the start gate, or maybe, could leave that competitive nightmare forever. This dragging on of my continual denial began to infect my joy, and as I began to try to adopt the concept of daily shredding being merely "Practice for the big game", i found myself trying to live a concept that I brutally despised. What resulted was a resentment for skiing. I couldn't hit my mark and the failure began to wear me down. And worst of all, I no longer new how to have fun skiing. I had become so confused with trying to honestly be something i'm not that i lost all the smiles and beauty I used to wallow in.

The Happy Medium.
It had never dawned on me that i was better at something else. It had never crossed my mind that skiing itself, looked at from another angle could brilliantly glimmer again and renew my lost obsession that i so deeply desired. That new angle was announcing. Suddenly i was in a place where i could observe the beauty of competitive events and watch those that loved to compete display their talents in a dazzling spectacle of lights, music, and determination. And just as suddenly i was back in love. The feeling of my returning sensation was indescribable. Like coming home from years of desert and exile to my one true home shot through with the golden light of Joy and grandeur.. And then it spread... I started feeling it in my skiing again: shirtless rodeo 7's with Dumont in Sweden, sharp edges in sunbaked snow, smooth doubles with Wallisch in Whistler, all this part and partial with the quickly fading and oh so distant memories of my own dismay now replaced with the smooth caress of Joy, and Life, and Love, and Skiing.

I thank God.


Luke Van Valin... M.D. P.H.D...