The photos from Chamonix are up.
I am still speechless, still lost in the wilds of those mountains.
Still frought with disbelief that I was there, that I made it, that... I don't know.
I spent yesterday in front of the machine, updating CVs, writing reports, engaging in the occasional ICQ chat to break the monotony.
But the mountains are still in my head, despite the terrifying list of e-mail that demands responses.
I'm sorry, but I'm not ready yet. I am still lost in the wilds.
I am not ready to recount the parties, the bars, the things that happened in town at ground zero, the bruises on my shoulder from carrying skis, this or that explosion of laughter.
It is the moments of silence when none of us had any breath remaining that I dwell upon.
Not the shock of being hit on in a sports bar. The realization that I've come so far from being the quiet unattractive brainiac from the ski team last year to someone that invites conversation in the fittest place in the universe...
Talk of skydiving and other ultracool extreme things, a Warren Miller movie playing silently against one wall, and the DJ spinning surprisingly good music.
Beer, much beer, much dancing, much laughter, the Banff-ian mountain climber still happy to chat after mention of David.
And the mountains looming behind us.
I need to do it again.