It's Not What We Do That Defines Us...Or Is It? Reflections on Identity

After reading posts by Brendan, Elizabeth and Dave about what it means to be a climber, I spent a good bit of time pondering the concept of identity and the difference between saying, "I am a climber" and "I love climbing." The differences, though subtle, are important. One phrase implies an effect on identity, and that can be incredibly complicated. It got me thinking a lot about how I've defined my own identity in the past, and brought back some slightly painful memories.

Amie and I after an awesome afternoon of climbing!

Back to My Roots
This past weekend, I had the chance to climb at the gym where I first donned a pair of rock shoes - the Lindseth Climbing Wall at Cornell. I went with Amie, a high school swimming friend I'm convinced will change the world someday. After spending so many hours in pools with her as teenagers, it was amazing to be able to share climbing with her. She was a perfect partner.

It was also a joy to get back to my climbing roots, and back to where my excitement for the sport came from. It certainly didn't hurt that, in addition to climbing for the first time with one of my best friends, I ran into the instructor who taught my first climbing class, Women's Basic Rock!

My passion for climbing ebbs and flows - something I've learned to accept. I don't remember feeling love at first sight when I started in the fall of my senior year of college. Until that point, climbing was completely off my radar of possible activities; I didn't know what I was missing. As it turns out, the sport wasn't something I couldn't live without, just a really enjoyable way to spend a few hours. It made me feel strong and powerful. I didn't immediately fall in love, but climbing did awaken something in me; something that completely shook my world. 

"It isn't just a sport. It's my life. My Identity."

Doing what I loved - competing! (J. Lucia)

The first semester of senior year marked the beginning of my 13th year as a competitive swimmer. Swimming was something I completely fell in love with; I was obsessed. I saved every single meet program and heat sheet to go over my progression and my competition from 1995 on. Practice was all I cared about. I switched teams in high school in favor of a coach with a reputation for devising some of the hardest workouts possible. (He was also a strong male figure in my life when I needed one, and an incredible human being.) I picked colleges to look at based on whether I could swim at them or not, and the quality of the coaching. I was never an all-star, never an Olympic or NCAA caliber athlete; swimming was just something I couldn't live without.

And then, along came climbing. I don't think getting on the Lindseth climbing wall is the sole reason I started questioning my path - all of college was about learning and growing - but it was certainly one of them. After 13 years of eating, sleeping and breathing swimming, I was getting burned out. I didn't look forward to practices and couldn't find the motivation to push myself as hard as I used to. That November, I sat down with my coach for one of the toughest discussions I'd ever had. He told me to take a week off to really think about whether I wanted to finish out my senior year or not.

I sat out an entire week of practices. It felt like an eternity for someone who'd only go without swimming one out of every seven days. I'd count down the minutes until each workout, thinking about my teammates about to jump into the water. They'd survived another day of classes, homework, sleep deprivation, and everything a college athlete has to manage, but I wasn't there. Despite the fact that the week of wasn't designed to end my career, just to help me reflect, there was a hole in my heart. It felt like I'd already lost something incredibly important, like someone or something had died.

"Where did that girl with the passion go? She'd hate seeing anyone work harder than she did. She wouldn't back off for a single yard. It was never enough. And it still isn't. Of course I was relieved, Coach finally told me it was okay, that everything I've felt doesn't make me an awful person. I don't want to let the team down, but by being in the pool with the attitude I have, that's precisely what I'm doing. But so what? It's just swimming. Shit, it's never just swimming. Ever. It's 90% of who I am. Who will I be if I'm not an athlete?" (Journal excerpt, 11/14/2005)

The Path to Understanding

Loving climbing, Nov. 2005. (D. Herscovitch)

I made a list of things that comprised my identity over the course of that week. I described myself as a student, a woman, a fighter, a perfectionist, an individual, a sister, a daughter, a friend, and a competitor. I made a list of reasons I should swim. The list included things like, "because I love it, because I love achieving my goals, and because I love being part of a team." 

During that same week, I finished a roof route in the climbing gym for the first time, something I'd worked at for two months. (The picture on the right was taken right afterward!) I made peace with my relationship with swimming and finished out my senior year. It wasn't the best five months of my career, but I did it. Despite achieving a lifetime best in one of my events, the 100 breaststroke, during a time trial, I failed to make the team of swimmers who would represent Cornell at the Ivy League Championships that year.

Moving Forward and Moving On
It's taken me a long time to understand that, though I might have been a swimmer, it didn't define who I was. I fought against it for so long, and the internal battle wreaked havoc on my performance in the pool. Swimming was something I did, something I was passionate about, and something I devoted an incredible amount of time to. But it was okay to stop caring so much, to release some of the pressure I put on myself, when the time was right. It didn't make me any less of a swimmer, or change who I was. In fact, when I moved to Alaska after graduation, I joined a masters swim team in Anchorage and even competed in a meet. It didn't last long, though...I found so many other things I wanted to try and had both the physical and mental freedom to do so.

I'll always be a competitor. I'll always be happier when I'm active. I'll always love learning and trying new things. But there's a lot of pressure to live up to the expectations that come with saying, "I'm a swimmer," or "I'm a climber." That's why I hesitate to identify as anything but myself, anything but just plain old Katie. I want the things I'm passionate about to help me learn and grow, but not define my identity.

Guest Trip Report: Red Rock Rendezvous Recap

Priya and Justin at Calico Basin. (J. Johnsen)

I'm proud and excited to feature Justin Johnsen as Adventure-Inspired's first ever guest blogger! Hope you enjoy his take on this year's Red Rock Rendezvous.

I’d heard about the Red Rock Rendezvous for years, but this time, my friend Brett’s enthusiasm from his 2010 Rendezvous was infectious.  Philly friend Frank and I signed up to go and made plans to meet Brett at the event. I tried to recruit a few folks including Priya who had relocated to Washington D.C. from Philadelphia. It was to be a rendezvous indeed!

When Katie realized she couldn’t go, she recruited me to write about the Rendezvous. With a gonzo journalism assignment like this to Las Vegas, I wanted to roll out like Hunter S. Thompson. But our lack of budget limited me to vodka and tonic as a chemical prelude, and thus passed the flight west.

Milestones

On Friday, we stopped at Calico Basin for a warm up climb at Cow Lick Crag. Changing into our climbing clothes, the city was gone from our eyes and minds for the duration of the festival. We were at the edge of the wilderness, albeit a heavily populated one; a thousand attendees would be there for the Rendezvous in addition to the usual visitors. We spent the necessary fifteen minutes in overloaded awe of the beautiful scrambled sandstone landscape of the Calico Hills, an experience I have each time I come here.

As I lined up draws on my harness, I had a flashback to the first time the three of us tried to climb outside together on our own. Merely two years ago, I had become confident enough to set up top rope anchors at High Rocks, Philadelphia’s largest local crag. Despite rain falling all night, we drove almost an hour to find a (legal) campsite, slept in the weather, and were rebuffed from climbing by the weather. 

Now here we were at a world class desert sandstone sport climbing destination, ready to hit the rock on our own. What a milestone in our climbing lives and in our friendship.

We climbed Cow Lick Co., an easy, slabby 5.7. Frank and I took turns leading and Priya followed on toprope, all the while lamenting that she hadn’t learned to lead yet. Interestingly, she won a set of five top end quickdraws from Trango in their post-Rendezvous contest on Facebook; I know she’ll be leading on those soon!

Frank after locating the disappearing tent. (J. Johnsen)

Rogue Winds, Disappearing Tents

We chatted with climbers from far and near at the crags. One person warned us the campsites were filling up, so we hustled out after one round of climbs. Fortunately, this was bad beta. We drove past Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area to Spring Mountain State Park, the scene of every bit of the festival except the climbs. There was ample space; two or three times the number of tents on site could have fit comfortably. Although, I’d guess many more would have been flattened by the gusting 60 mph winds.

The winds were a memorable part of this year’s Rendezvous. During a speech, one of the Access Fund representatives, (whose name I forgot to note… damn you, free beer!), said this was a good year because only three or so tents blew away. Frank and I seem to be responsible for this mayhem; we forgot to anchor ours the first morning. When we returned from a short hike, it had gone AWOL. We found it a hundred yards away, pinned by a log that helpful campers had trapped it under. Later that night, after rigging a truly SRENE anchor to hold it, Brett and Stephen mentioned their tent had taken out by another one blowing by. While I can’t be totally sure, it sounded like ours fit the description…

The registration tent full of fun and gear! (J. Johnsen)

Fun, Food, Beer and Gear!

Both Rendezvous nights were quite similar. Festival attendees focused on a stage where renowned climbers played slide shows and told stories of the year’s feats, and the event’s sponsors gave presentations and thanks. Each attendee got a commemorative beer glass, which was freely refilled between the hours of 5 and 10 like some mythical Norse drinking horn with beer on tap from New Belgium. Valhalla!

The lawn was lined tents belonging to well known climbing equipment companies. Some loaned gear for the following day’s climb; for collateral, you could test some top-of-the-line gear. Naturally the sales reps were there to talk about the virtues of their wares, but most were genuinely users of the same. By the time I figured out that I could borrow gear while looking through the Osprey and Five Ten tents, I was too tired, cold and buzzed to think about trying on shoes.

I ate the food, I drank the beer and I drooled over the gear, but maintained self-control and didn’t buy any on impulse. Brett and his climbing partner regaled us with stories of their multi-pitch climbs in the canyons. The party ended each night with music and dancing each night. We huddled in Frank’s four season tent, safe from the angry wind and making plans for the next day.

Learning crevasse rescue techniques with the AAI. (J. Johnsen)

Crevasse Rescue in the Desert

Frank and I took a crevasse rescue class Saturday morning. This complemented a winter mountaineering class we took a couple of weeks before, and contributed to the idea of climbing Mount Rainier. A climbing friend of mine from California, BJ, was also at the clinic. I knew him from a 2008 trip I put together for Mount Williamson. Having climbed the last of California’s 14ers last year, he’s looking to Colorado’s and Washington’s tallest summits.

Our instructors, American Alpine Institute guides Angela Seidling and Kristen Looper, taught us roped glacier travel, self-rescue, and rescue pulley systems. They were helpful and thorough, and kept a perfect pace for presenting such a large volume of specific information. With a practiced cadence born of experience, they broke up lectures and demonstrations with hands on activities for all of us. We practiced tying into a rope, ascending on prusiks and rigging pulley systems. While the desert might seem like a silly place for a glacier safety clinic, the weather did its part to get colder each morning. By the Monday after the Rendezvous ended, there was snow near the elevation we camped at.

...Rain in the Desert?

Priya on toprope at Civilization Crag. (J. Johnsen)

After the AAI clinic, we broke away from the festival and found our own climbs. Being accustomed to slippery Pennsylvania schist and shale, Red Rock’s sandstone was a pleasure to scramble across on the approach, and to climb to the “remote” Civilization crag. After a playful hike in, we warmed upon the Sun Never Sets (5.7) with a slabby ending, but more interesting than the prior day’s hike. Next we moved to Babylon 5.8. It gave me some real anxiety leading to the first bolt; the deck beneath was uneven and rocky, the crag was new tome, and the good holds were interspersed with hollow-ringing loose flakes. After a quick hang to get my head back on straight, the rest of the route was fun, enjoyably exposed, but not technically difficult. Soon all three of us had climbed both route and were scouting the 5.9 next to Babylon.

We were cut short by heavy raindrops. Having heard horror stories of how unreliable Red Rock stone becomes after heavy rains, I feared the worst when the first drops hit. But all we had were briefly passing desert showers. Some climbs were canceled Saturday afternoon, though. As we walked back through the parking lot, I overheard one attendee say that his “How to Lead Trad” class in the canyon that afternoon turned into a “How to Bail Gracefully” class.

The author on lead, Sun Never Sets (5.7) (P. Swamy)

One Hell of a Subculture

On Sunday, we had our celebrity clinic after the free pancake breakfast. The names of our instructors weren’t provided in advance. As we got off the shuttle at Willow Springs, our “Crack Climbing” class of five combined with a “Trad Anchors” class of two. Our instructors were Sonnie Trotter, one of Canada’s best single pitch trad climbers, for crack climbing, and Kate Rutherford, just back from an alpine first ascent on Mount Fitz Roy in Patagonia, for trad anchors. Unfortunately, our crack class was assigned a crag that didn’t have a proper full-pitch crack climb. Instead, we practiced on some chest-high cracks of variable widths and still learned quite a bit.

Compared to top athletes of other sports, Kate and Sonnie were free of ego. It makes me proud to be part of such a down-to-earth culture where people do this just because they love to climb, and that’s often enough to bond over. That’s what I really took away from the Red Rock Rendezvous. This is one hell of a subculture. The rebellion of the early decades of climbing is still here to some degree, but so many of the newer generations of climbers are activists for constructive causes at the same time.  I see great things here for climbing, and great things ahead. The Rendezvous really plugged me into this current.

Three Perspectives on the Weekend

Justin , Priya , Frank

Justin Johnsen is a generalist, currently working as a software developer at a Medicaid provider. His post-hippy parents shared their love of the outdoors with him in the mountains, deserts and beaches of Southern California. After moving to Philadelphia and finding no mountains, he picked up the surrogate sport of climbing, as a new excuse to spend time outside with interesting people. 

A Look Back: Alone With My Thoughts in Denali

This post in the "A Look Back" series takes me back to one of my most vivid memories of the two years I lived in Alaska - the day before what I planned to be an epic-at-the-time adventure. I was an outdoor n00b living in an outdoor adventurer's paradise, Denali National Park in the summer, and planned to take full advantage. This is an excerpt from the journal I kept while I was there.

sunset on the Healy Range, Denali National Park, 2006.

this place. this wonderful place. this wide expanse of enthralling beauty, so much beauty i could cry, so much beauty i can hardly believe it truly exists. i'd seen the pictures just like everyone else, but i never anticipated this feeling of wonder and excitement just from gazing out my window as the slightly setting sun hits distant ridges i might be lucky enough to stand on. despite the sun that never sets, snow stays unmelted on the highest peaks and in rock crevices that never feel its warmth. i want to see it all. and it's all mine. it's my own giant playground.

i'm waking up, stretching my legs, and realizing the world as i knew it has changed. it's surreal. this place is altering my consciousness every minute of every day. i'm going out into the wilderness alone tomorrow for the first time, my first solo camping trip, and i'm so scared-excited. i'm going out on my own because i can. because it's there. because i want to experience silence.

the sun's turned Mount Healy an impossibly fluorescent shade of pink. an Alaskan sunset - the absence of the actual disappearance of the sun over the horizon, but rather defined by the vibrant colors and shadows it brings while the larger inhabited part of this hemisphere is dark. it's almost midnight and i can still see every tree, clear as day, clear as i will seven hours from now when i pull myself out of bed for my little adventure. Sanctuary Creek, where i'm headed, we'll see if it's actually a sanctuary. it sure looks like one. and sounds like one.

a self portrait on the Denali Park Road at Sactuary Creek, 2006.

i fit a tent, sleeping bag, food, a map, two nalgenes and other mini-essentials into the North Face Slingshot backpack i used to take to class every day. tent pegs and extra clothes are tied to my unbelievably heavy mountain bike frame. i'm hoping i'll actually be able to pedal. i'll catch a camper bus to mile 22 on the park road, set up my little tent, and just be. for a day, a night, and another day.

tomorrow, i'll leave it all behind. i will just be. i will exist, Denali will exist, and that will be enough.

Embarrassing as this is to admit, my not-so-badass self and I didn't spend the night out in Denali National Park. I set up the tent as planned, went on a hike and came back to make dinner. At that point, I realized I was alone, and lonely. At 22, being alone with my thoughts was a little much. I wasn't scared, just lonely. Time passed so slowly, and I realize now I just wasn't ready to be completely alone with myself, yet. I packed up my 30 pounds of gear after seven or eight hours out there, saddled up and biked the 22 miles back to the park entrance. I'd never biked that far in my life. The park road is hilly, long, and mostly gravel. I made it back in the middle of the night, sore and slightly defeated, but optimistic. I look back at this and smile because that trip seems so small and silly now, but it was such a big deal then!

Six Reasons You Need to Give Ice Climbing a Try

chillin' in Ricketts Glen State Park. (D. Herscovitch)

Up until a year or two ago, the concept of climbing ice was completely foreign to me. Rock climbing, sure, but ice? Even after learning it existed, I couldn't believe people actually did it. But I tried it, learned more about it, and it's quickly becoming one of my favorite cold weather activities. Here are my top six reasons why you've got to add it to your list of sports to try. 

(1) It just looks cool. This is indisputable. You're scaling frozen waterfalls, temporary structures, in the cold with sharp objects in your hands and attached to your feet. For some, the concept of climbing a wall of ice seems unfathomable. And if you add in the perceived danger factor, it's as cool as outdoor sports get (pun intended). And it's not just about how cool it looks to everyone else; it looks cool to me. It just looks like fun. As George, veteran ice climber since 2004 says, "when else will you be allowed to strap spikes onto your feet and wield a pair of axes?"

(2) Ice is really pretty, and every formation is completely unique. Ice can take so many incredible shapes. After you've tried ice climbing, you'll go back to the same formation a year, even a week later, and it will have changed. I visited Ricketts Glen State Park this weekend and the routes looked completely different than they did last year. "Ice climbing is exciting partly because you are climbing a completely different medium. It can change in a way such that the same climb can have a very different feel a day later," says George.

EMS climbing guide Matt looking super cool!

(3) Seasonal sports are great, but rock climbers and warm weather athletes need something to do in the winter. As much as I try not to be, I can be one of those people who complains about how difficult it can be to get some exercise in the winter. But if I've got a sport I'm interested in, or a new activity to try, I'm more likely to get off my rear end and get outside. Ice climbing is very different from rock climbing, and can give folks who think they have a handle on the vertical world a completely new perspective. Some people are heat seeking creatures, which I completely understand, but with the right gear and a thermos of hot cocoa, being outside in the cold really isn't that bad. Sure you'll get chilled, but it's (usually) only temporary. And down jackets work wonders, which brings me to reason #4...

(4) It's one more excuse to accumulate awesome new gear. Some of us outdoorsfolk love buying, renting, using and talking about cool new gear. There are so many varieties of crampons and ice tools to choose from, all specific to what you'll use them for. Then there are climbing harnesses, dry treated climbing ropes, climbing helmets, belay devices, hard shell pants and jackets, gloves, ice screws, screamers, the list is endless. (Yes, there is a sport in which one piece of protection is called a screamer.) Though all these toys can put a dent in your bank account, for a gear addict, there's nothing more fun than testing out a new tool. But please, when you're investigating new gear, think hard about whether it's really necessary or not and if there's an environmentally friendly way you can find it.

Friend Lauren's first time on ice!

(5) If you want to climb big mountains, it's a skill you'll probably need. Though many snow and ice covered mountains, including Rainier and McKinley, have routes without vertical ice, many, many others do not. Even if you can climb one route on a mountain avoiding technical ice climbing, you might find the best route up that mountain requires ice skills. The bottom line - it's an important tool for anyone interested in technical alpine climbing.

(6) You'll be in good company. You're closer to being as cool as Laurel, #badassgirl, who does things like this, and Caroline George, who does things like this. And then of course, there's Genevieve Hathaway, Jill from @GearGals, the Chicks With Picks instructors and alumni...the list goes on. These ladies are company you want to be in!

I spent this Sunday out climbing ice in Ricketts Glen State Park with TerraMar Adventures and the Bloomsburg Quest program as an event organizer for the second year in a row. The event filled up within 24 hours of posting it on the TerraMar website, which says to me most people don't need a reason to try ice climbing. They're already psyched to learn about it! Bloomsburg Quest and the EMS Climbing School helped start me out ice climbing, and there are local guide organizations everywhere to help you get started.

Ice climbers, what are some of the reasons you'd give to someone who's never put tool to ice before?

Promises Worth Keeping

Walking on the frozen St. Lawrence River, 2005. (D Herscovitch)

I didn't write a New Year's Resolution post last year. In fact, I never wrote resolutions at all. I usually don't for a number of reasons. And they're not all negative reasons:

1. I'll either set unrealistic expectations, or set realistic expectations and not meet them, both of which result in feelings of regret and self-deprecation.
2. Some resolutions I set, though meaningful on January 1st, end up being irrelevant, but sometimes for a good reason. Last year's list of resolutions might have included commiting to a solid workout four days a week. But they would never have included something like raising $5,100 for Big City Mountaineers and climbing Mount Rainier. Training for that in and of itself was a bigger commitment than a 4x/week workout schedule. Go me!
3. I don't believe in them...much. We're supposed to be setting goals, striving and reaching all year. What makes this day more important than any other? Why not set resolutions on our birthdays? I'd rather my goals be fluid, and I'd rather set them as I learn more about what I really want to accomplish rather than forcing them out according to the Gregorian calendar's "new year." I want when I set goals to be flexible.
4. It makes things easier. It's the easy way out. I don't have to set goals on this day like everyone else, I don't have to commit to anything, and I don't have to worry about disappointing myself. Putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, and getting that concept in writing, then rereading it...well, it's a lame excuse. It's a symptom of fear.

I know we're supposed to set specific, measurable goals. How else will we know if we've achieved them? But there's so much I want to get out of the upcoming year(s) that can't be measured, and I'd imagine when I'm about to cross the proverbial finish line, I'll just know.

There are a few "resolutions" I've been working on lately, though they have nothing to do with New Year's Day. They're not resolutions, really, they're promises. I haven't resolved to complete them by January 1, 2012. I didn't make them on January 1, 2010. They're part of my ongoing evolution. I want to climb another "big" mountain this year, which I suppose could be a resolution. I want to do a better job of staying in touch with friends. That could be one too. But if I continue to work on keeping my promises, the rest will come. And I'm getting them out in the open today because they're important.

I've done a lot of growing this year, a lot of internal reflection, a lot of limit testing, and a lot of learning. I'm proud of the slow, but steady progress I've made in getting to know myself. It's such a strange concept, knowing myself. I spend every second of every day with me, how could the person that is me still be a bit of a stranger? Regardless, here are some of the silent-until-now promises I've made:

• I promise to accept myself, and with that, I promise to stop wanting to be like everyone else.
• I promise to learn how to separate others' expectations from my own, and live according to mine. I promise to work to understand what really, truly drives me and follow that passion wherever it takes me.
• I promise to look in the mirror every day with loving eyes, not critical ones. Then, I promise to take those non-critical eyes out into the world.
• I promise to keep challenging myself, to keep trying things that scare me, for as long as I live. And when the fear's almost too much, I promise to continually remind myself of how it feels to conquer it.
• I promise to keep looking inward, even though that promise might come with tears and things I don't want to find. It will also come with so many positive things, and already has.

Wish me luck!

Revelstoke, Here We Come! (In Two Months)

Alyeska, where I learned to ski in 2007.

Normally, Mondays are days I don't particularly look forward to. But this Monday was...awesome. I booked my flight to Kelowna, British Columbia for my first real ski trip "out west." For someone who's grown up on the East Coast and spent the last few winters skiing in Pennsylvania, I'm not entirely sure what skiing "out west" entails, but I know it's going to be awesome.

I started skiing back in 2007 when I lived in Alaska, though you can bet it took me at least a month into real winter to try it at all. "You want me to hurtle myself down a giant mountain toward the icy Turnagin Arm on pieces of wood attached to my feet? Seriously?!" But try I did, and I discovered that those years of figure skating lessons paid off. I realized my instant, although uncontrolled, ability to parallel ski. (I figure skated until age 10, at which point I decided I was not, in fact, graceful, and swimming was much more fun.)

That winter, I spent almost every weekend at the Alyeska Resort outside of Anchorage. After a month of skiing, my "instructor" finally let me use poles, and I finally figure out how not to trip over them. I still don't plant them properly, though.

So, after much deliberation, waffling, and general arguing both internally and out loud, I booked my flight to British Columbia to ski at Revelstoke. Life's full of trade-offs, and I knew there would only be one big trip this winter. But I'm psyched that this is it! We'll spend a few days wandering around the Kelowna area, hopefully discovering a handful of outdoor adventures to be had. Then our little group will head to Revelstoke for several days of jaw dropping views and feet of beautiful snow.

I'm not going to lie, I'm nervous. As far as skiing goes, I'm about average, and I'm going to British Columbia to ski with a few folks who are, to say the least, incredible skiers. Black runs here in Pennsylvania give me a run for my money, and I didn't make it down a single black run at Alyeska without biting it at least once. A few days at Whiteface Mountain outside Lake Placid, NY last winter left me a little more fearless. But after several hours of steep skiing, my legs are jello, and concentrating enough not to fall is quite challenging. I know powder is akin to gold for skiers and boarders, but I have absolutely no idea how to ski in it. The closest I've come to skiing powder was sloshing through inches of fluffy snow that had fallen one day at Alyeska. That was three years ago.

Nerves aside, I'm beyond excited. I can't wait for the Canadian Rockies to take my breath away. I'm guessing just sitting at a window staring outside would be enough to keep me occupied for the entire week. But, this blog is called "Adventure-Inspired" after all, and I'm so looking forward to taking on the challenge of skiing in a brand new place, and learning as much as I can.

All of you skiers out there, what advice do you have for someone who's about to go on their first real, honest-to-goodness ski trip? I've got two months to get myself ready!

Being Thankful for Nature's Gifts

Sunset and alpenglow in Denali National Park.

This morning, friend Amy Christensen of Expand Outdoors posed a question on her blog about gifts from nature. As far as gifts go, hers is, without a doubt, the ability to ask questions that force me to think more critically and more openly than I ever thought possible. She's certainly got me thinking before, and this time is no exception. 

I took some time today to reflect on those of nature's gifts I'm most thankful for, and narrowed it down those I thought were most meaningful.

Thanks to nature, I understand the true meaning of "awestruck". Alaska, the Canadian Rockies, Mount Rainier, and everything in between taught me that. The landscapes take my breath away. They awaken a longing, a sadness, buried under my seemingly silly obsessions and worries.The feeling is an addiction; as soon as I'm away, the only thing I can think of is how to get it back.
Thanks to nature, I've put a new definition to what it means to be challenged. Outdoor sports (climbing, mountaineering, wilderness backpacking and hiking) have humbled and fascinated me. I've been petrified and exhilarated all at the same time, every time. Despite the fear, I keep going back. I want to learn, grow, and accept the fear as part of being human.

Nature gives me an escape with a purpose. It's not just about being distracted from life's everyday responsibilities; television can accomplish that. It's about leaving everything else behind, immersing myself in and becoming completely aware of my surroundings. Even when I'm on a hike, I'll have to force myself to pay complete attention and to stay present. When I'm able to completely focus on the smells, sounds, and sights, it's unlike any other release.

Nature forces all of us to be creative, think critically, learn and grow. In Alaska, I was fascinated by the need for an engine block heater and studded tires on my car. The concept of building a house, a hotel, or a high rise on such a volatile landscape was incredible. The terrain constantly shifts, and if we're going to inhabit place like it, we've got to adapt. That need for adaptation is exciting, and the constant challenges fascinate me.

The kindred spirits I've found make me feel constantly thankful. Through nature, I've discovered passionate friends I never knew I could have.

Thanks to nature, I'm reminded of how small I am, and that there's more to the world than just me. Than just us. Than just my apartment, my car, my job, the noise, and the hustle and bustle of life.

If you've got gifts from nature you're thankful for, post them in the comments section and be sure to let Amy know what they are, too!

Finding My Sanctuary

I'm the kind of girl who craves routine and familiarity. At least, I used to define myself that way. The need for it has certainly lessened over time as I've found ways to cope, and I've noticed a steady decline in my need to do so. It's not longer solely about getting comfortable in a new place as quickly as possible as it is to explore, see new things, and make new friends. It's a brand new challenge, getting to know an unfamiliar place.

When I was younger and relocated, either for internships in college or otherwise, I always had a few things I had to find in a new place to feel comfortable. First and foremost, I had to find a good, local coffee shop to write in. (Note: "local" meant no chains allowed, even regional brands.) Something about the aroma, the clientele, the collection of random flyers on bulletin boards, the two-year-old magazines, and the mishmash of nicked and scratched furniture always made me feel at home. It was like my sanctuary, my escape from the unfamiliar. And I had to have a place to write.



The day I learned to form thoughts into words on paper, I started a journal. The first one was a fabric bound book a gift from my Grandmother. Other mediums of choice ranged from composition books to five-subject college ruled notebooks to napkins, all entries organized in a specific fashion. Journals for traveling, journals for home, all with a purpose. I loved to write. I loved how free I felt. I loved how the companion I found in between the pages pulled the honest truths out of me and how futile resistance was. That companion taught me more about me than anyone else ever has. No expectations, no judgment, it just listened.



My box of "special stuff" can survive anything.

When our house in Ithaca burned down in 2007, all I could think about was whether the box of journals I'd packed up before moving to Alaska and stored in the basement was safe. That was my life. And they were. As I "grew up", I stopped keeping regular entries. I'd write when something important happened. I didn't have enough time, I didn't have anything to write about, the excuses just kept coming. But relocating meant needing to find familiarity in something, and I realized how important it is to be introspective, especially when it scares me. So I'd get out my journal in my little coffee shop and write.


I haven't moved in three years, and thus haven't had to think about finding coffee shops to write in. If I felt the need, I'd know exactly where to go. But I have a feeling if I moved, the things I'd seek out first would change. I don't seek refuge in journals often anymore, and if I do, it's more fun to sit at home with a cup of my own brewed coffee and a cat on my lap. I'd guess a climbing gym or local crag would be first on my list, closely followed by the nearest place to hike. Next would come a farmer's market. Last, but certainly not least, could come a good, healthy restaurant that serves local food.

One of the best things about keeping journals is they serve as your own personal history books. You get to look back and see how you've evolved and how you've changed. I'm glad to be able to share some of it with you!

Hanging on to Small Victories

Many of us underestimate our accomplishments and the small strides we make toward much larger goals. We think, “It wasn’t that big of a deal,” or “this little thing I did doesn’t compare to big things other people are doing.” But no matter how small a victory might seem, it's still a victory. Succeeding at our long term goals often requires these small victories. They add up over time if we let them, and can help motivate us to keep reaching. They confirm we're doing something right.

Small victory, yay!

The Small Victories 

I kept trying to convince myself the lead at Rumney last weekend wasn't a big deal. It was only a 5.7, only had 5 bolts, was only one climb, anyone can set up a top rope, and the list goes on and on. I looked at all the climbers around me and thought, “How can I be proud of one easy lead when everyone else here does the same thing, but harder, and five times more often?” But it was a big deal, and a small victory I needed to hang on to. As someone who’s particularly critical of themselves, the act of practicing my fist pump and using it regularly is so important.

My Gym Climbing Nemesis

My small victory and I went to Go Vertical this weekend to work on my nemesis. I'd call it a project, but to me, projecting means finding a beautiful, intriguing route just beyond your ability, just out of reach, and working it in pieces until you get it. My nemesis - a straightforward but extended, overhanging, juggy, pumpy mess - doesn't fit the criteria. It's among the "easy" lead climbs in the gym, and rated 5.9-. The beginning is steep, then it levels off slightly until about 15 feet from the chains at the top where it steepens again. That's where the fear set in. I'd get through the steep part in the beginning, enjoy the slightly less overhanging middle, then look up and see what I had left. It looked like miles of climbing. I'd start breathing harder, over-grip, and finally yell, "Take!" before I even had the chance to fall.

I called it my nemesis because no matter how fresh I was, how in shape I felt, or what I ate for breakfast, I couldn't get myself to push through without resting. I was too scared to fall, and was convinced it was inevitable as soon as I moved on to the steeper section. I'd tried everything from jumping on it as soon as I got to the gym to warming up on confidence-building easy routes first. I'd even tried telling my belayer not to take in slack when I asked for it, just to let me fall. Nothing worked.

An Army of Small Victories

On Saturday, I got to the gym and roped up quickly. I didn’t give myself time for negative self talk, just like I'd done at Rumney. I was so gung-ho and jittery I managed to back-clip the rope into the first draw and I had to start over. With a renewed focus, I got on and made it through the first two thirds of the climb, pausing just below the last, steepest section. I looked above me, and for some reason, the last third didn’t seem that intimidating. It was still a bit of a distance, sure, but only a few more clips. I was breathing hard, sure, and shaking out didn’t seem to relax my arms at all. But for the first time, I believed, and I made it. Now I have two small victories to use in my quest to overcome my fear of falling. I'm building an army.

“But it was only a sport lead in the gym. It was only a 5.9-, and probably doesn’t deserve that grade.” My self-critical brain started trying to minimize what I'd done as I lowered to the ground. But I pushed it all away, hugged my belayer, and let myself be happy if for no other reason than I wouldn’t have to get on the climb again!

The next time you succeed in making a stride toward a larger goal, allow yourself a real fist-pumping cheer. Then take your small victory, relish in it, and use it to fuel the next stride. You deserve it!

My growing army of small victories. (Can you tell I drew it myself?)

Adventure-Inspired Gets a Facelift

A little fisherman on the St. Lawrence River.

You wake up on a Monday morning, crawl out of bed, stretch, feel the soreness and stiffness from your weekend adventures and realize you can't start the day without coffee. But even before the coffee, you can't start the week without checking up on Adventure-Inspired Tales Right? You turn on the ol' computer/iPad/iWhatever and visit http://www.adventure-inspired.com. And, *gasp*, it looks completely different! Again!


I fret over details all the time, even if they don't matter, or can be worked out at a later date. But in the case of this blog, this place I use to share things I care about and adventures I've had with all of you, the fretting is worth it. This little piece of the internet matters, and I want it to be perfect.

My first re-launch on wasn't planned. The details hadn't been entirely vetted. It was rushed. I was nervous. But it was necessary. I didn't have a choice. So I found a design I liked, tweaked it, and launched.

Now that I've had some time to work more with the layout, I realized there were certain things about it I wanted to change to make it more functional. I'd received feedback about a couple of things readers were having trouble with, and I wanted to make it better.  I fretted over the thought of re-launching again less than two months later. But if I've learned nothing else these days, it's that there are some things I can control, and some things I can. If something I can control needs to be changed, I need to change it.

So, based on reader feedback and my own thoughts about how to improve Adventure-Inspired, here's what's new:

• Link to comments at the top of each post under the title
• Opportunities to share the post via twitter, facebook, email, and every other possible form of communication (no carrier pigeons)
• Right-hand navigation
• Modified text size and color

Hope you continue to enjoy what I've got to say, and thanks for being patient with me! I just might make a few more little changes, who knows? I'm never satisfied.

New Website, New Look, Same Katie!

I'm excited to introduce http://www.adventure-inspired.com,
my new home for all tales adventure-related!

Why the Change?
When I initially chose "adventuregrrl" as my twitter handle and blog title, I chose it because I thought it encompassed who I am and what I do. I wanted to make it easy for my friends and family to understand the general theme of my blog posts, and to keep up with me! It just seemed perfect. But, as it turns out, there's another adventure-promoting wonder woman out there who has amazing taste in names, and she was here (on the interwebz) first. So, despite my hesitations, to avoid further confusion between the two of us, I'm picking up my old blog, formerly http://www.anadventuregrrl.com, and moving it to a new home - here!

Where'd the New Name Come From?
I can't begin to thank all of you who expressed your feelings about the change to me on twitter and in person! For anyone who's ever tried coming up with a twitter handle, a blog title, a brand, an identity, etc. that truly represents who you are, you know it can be an incredibly difficult process. The best thing I thought I could do was to reach out to my friends, the twitterverse, and my readers for help. I didn't know whether I'd actually pick the name everyone liked best, but thought it'd be fun to see what you all thought represented me.

I had a long talk with my friend Sarah, who helped me pick key words and themes that represented me. Our list included "wandering," "adventure," "wilderness," "outside," "learning," "testing limits," and "exploring." Friend Patrick of CampTheSummit.com weighed in as well, suggesting "WanderingK8," "summitgirl," and many others. I took some of my favorite themes, and at Amanda's suggestion, created a SurveyMonkey poll.

After a few agonizing days of searching within and trying to determine what I wanted express to the world with my writing and on twitter, I chose k8tlevy as my new twitter handle (because it's my name!) and Adventure-Inspired for my blog.

Why "Adventure-Inspired?"
Everyone told me when the right name came to me, I'd just know it; that it would resonate with me. When @krisis mentioned the concept of an adventurous spirit, an adventurous heart, that started to feel right, so I ran with it!

I play outside, play inside, and test my limits because I'm constantly striving to learn, grow, and try new things. I look at what I've been able to do, the places I've seen, and the people I've met, and realize how lucky I am.

When I flew over the Chugach Range in Alaska for the first time, I cried. I cried because the landscape was so beautiful, humbling, and inspiring. When Aleya and I reached the summit of Algonquin this past January, I was scared, but so excited, and so psyched to continue exploring. When I visit my home climbing gym and work on projects, or watch other people climb, it makes me want to be better, and to learn.

Adventure doesn't have to take place outside, it can take place anywhere you're willing to open your mind to new experiences. Adventure can be found on week of backpacking in the wilderness, in a new project or a major life change, on the sharp end, even in trying new foods and meeting new people. It's this desire to have adventures, to learn and grow and be scared and try new things, that inspires me.

So, thanks for keeping up with me, and I look forward to sharing many future adventures!

Sweating Buckets - Adventures with Bikram

People who are good at yoga are awesome. I'm envious of those who can do things like this and this, and never expect to be one of them! But I can appreciate the mental and physical benefits of practicing. I'm not flexible and tend to have difficulty with hand-foot matches in climbing as a result, and other moves that require flexibility. Being stiff and tight can cause all sorts of problems, and as much as I know that, I still don't focus on loosening up nearly as much as I should.
When one of my good friends and fellow TerraMar guides Carrie invited me to a Bikram yoga class on Tuesday night, I was skeptical, but excited to try something new! Sarah and Carrie both schooled me on pre-class preparation. I was instructed to be as hydrated as possible, stop eating at least two hours before class to avoid vomiting, bring a water bottle to take sips from during class to avoid passing out, and wear as little as I was comfortable wearing. If that isn't enough to make a girl nervous...

We met at Bikram Yoga of Philadelphia, a beautiful bi-level studio in Center City, for a 90-minute class. The studio felt like the surface of the sun, (even though it was only ~100ºF), and unlike other yoga classes I've been to (power yoga, vinyasa), the instructor spoke quickly, loudly, and excitedly as he led us through the poses. Of course, there were some I couldn't do, but he was helpful and corrected me each time my posture wasn't quite right.

Despite spending the entire class dripping sweat and being uncomfortable, but I'm glad I did it. I left feeling invigorated and temporarily free of the stiffness from my lifting/cardio sessions the day before. Aside from the physical benefits, I enjoyed the mental challenge. Most of us don't enjoy being uncomfortable, and when we are, we'll do what we can to alleviate that feeling. As each bead of sweat dripped off my skin, as my heart raced to pump blood and cool me down, as annoyed as I was with being so hot, I couldn't just leave the room. I had to deal with it. I had to be patient, let go of the little annoyances, and stay focused.

I've heard the harder yoga is for you, the more you might need it, and the more it might help you. It's always been physically difficult for me, but Bikram provided an added mental challenge. That mental training, learning how to talk to myself when I'm uncomfortable, is so important for climbing and in preparation for other big, scary challenges. As it turns out, the things I find most difficult mentally in climbing, yoga, mountaineering, etc. run parallel to many things I find difficult in life. And someday, I'll conquer them all! class last night, I was a bit hesitant. Being super hot and sweaty bothers me, and I'll do almost anything I can do avoid it, including moving to Alaska! But after Carrie and other friends and Alexis both raved about how Bikram made them feel, I figured it was worth a shot. I'd done yoga before, but never anything like this!

Dames in the Dacks: A Mountaineering Adventure

How it All Began.

Inspired by Sara Lingafelter and her trip to Nepal with the Expedition Hanesbrand team, I started looking at mountaineering courses this past fall. I've spent so much time reading about other peoples' adventures in faraway places and I've always wanted to try mountaineering, to be like one of those people I read about. And I never really thought it was possible. But after reading about Sara's experience and trying to understand what it was that kept me from pursuing a whole new realm of outdoor adventure, I finally decided it was time.

One of the most prohibitive factors was, and still is, cost. But where there's a will...you know... and I found out through the Eastern Mountain Sports website that they offer classes of all sorts very close to home. Their 3 Day Accelerated Mountaineering course sounded like the perfect way to introduce myself to ice climbing and mountaineering, and by taking it in the Adirondacks, I'd be doing it in a relatively familiar environment.

Leave it to Twitter to make a good idea a great idea. I was ecstatic to discover that Aleya was interested and we signed up to take the class together.

Day 1: Basic Skills, Sliding Down Hills and My First Pitch of Ice EVER!

Aleya and I met our instructor, Matt, at the EMS store in Lake Placid Friday morning (1/8). We discovered we'd have a third in the class, Alex, an assistant professor of medicine from New York City. Alex's enthusiasm and willingness to learn a million new things in the span of three days was fantastic, and I'm so glad we had the chance to meet him.

We geared up at the store, learning about different types of boots, crampons and ice tools. Matt told us our first half day would be spent learning basics, including walking in crampons and self arrest techniques. Imagine our excitement when we learned we'd be sliding down a hill all morning! Matt took us to what was the site of the 1932 Olympic ski jump landing area for our lessons. We practiced holding our ice axes in self arrest position and arresting while sliding down the hill in different scenarios. The face-first-on-your-back scenario was the scariest, but still, I couldn't help but giggle like a five-year-old while hurtling myself down a snowy slope.

The afternoon was a monumental one. Matt took us to Buster (NEI 2-3, Pitchoff Mountain) for ice climbing. Ice climbing has always been one of those sports I looked at with a furrowed brow, eyes full of skepticism. (You want me to don sharp, pointy things on all of my limbs and throw them at a wall of ice, repeatedly, in the brutal cold?) But when I think of ice climbing, the words "hardcore" and "badass" are among the first I think of. I couldn't wait to try it.

Matt went up first and set a toprope anchor for the three of us to use. Aleya had been ice climbing before, but for Alex and I, it was brand new. It took me a bit to understand what it felt like to really swing the ice tools like I meant it, what it felt like when I hit a good spot, and the sounds the ice makes. But it was absolutely exhilarating. For someone who submits to fear often in rock climbing, I was surprisingly unafraid. Perhaps it was understanding that in ice climbing, you don't fall, and if you do, it's really, really bad.

The afternoon flew by and before we knew it, day 1 was over. We all met George for food and my favorite beer at the Lake Placid Pub and Brewery. George told us about his activities for the day, which involved a solo ice climb called Sisters Right. Awesome, George.

Tools/Gear I Used: Black Diamond Viper Hammer Ice Tool, Black Diamond Sabretooth Crampons, Black Diamond Raven or Raven Pro Ice Axe, Petzl Elios Helmet

Day 2: Who Needs One Pitch When You've Got Three?

We began the second day at the EMS store in Lake Placid again and hatched a plan to do a multi pitch ice climb called Chapel Pond Slab (II, WI 2-3, ~700'). I was beyond excited. My first multi pitch climb EVER, and on ice no less! We got to the base of the slab and found but two other parties in the middle of their ascent. Rather than waiting for them in the bitter cold, we moved on to an unnamed three pitch climb a bit down the road from Chapel Pond.

Again, Matt went up first and belayed us all from above. We ascended the first pitch in no time at all, and Alex belayed Matt on lead - his first lead belay ever! We hunkered down into the ice and snow at the top of the first pitch together while Matt led up the second. The entire climb was in the sun, and after the way was over, Aleya and I decided to name the climb "Juicy (NEI 1-2) for reasons I'm sure you can suppose. (We opted for a finalized name of Slushie today).

The second pitch was mostly hard packed snow over a thin sheet of ice, but not at all steep, and the third pitch was ice covered, but short. I half jokingly I told Matt I'd lead it - after all, it was only 20 feet or so. We made it to the top and took turns rappelling down. I finished the day with an incredible sense of accomplishment.

Tools/Gear I Used: Petzl Charlet Quark Ice Tool w/o leash (absolutely loved these), Black Diamond Sabretooth Crampons, Petzl Elios Helmet

Day 3: Putting it All Together: Summit of the Second-Highest Adirondack Peak

I've spent many a backpacking trip on the trails in the Adirondacks, and the area is one of my favorite places on Earth. I couldn't wait to try for the second-highest peak in the region, Algonquin, as the true test of what we'd learned. To be honest, I was a bit nervous suiting up in the parking lot at -5ºF. I have all the necessary clothes to stay warm in those conditions, but part of me still couldn't believe I'd make it out without frostbite.

We left around 8am in snowshoes from the Adirondack Loj parking lot. Snowshoes are required on the trails in the winter, not just for personal safety, but to prevent post-holing, which can cause deterioration of the trail and pose a hazard for other users. I found snowshoes extremely awkward at first, but had them figured out in no time. I had a blast experimenting with just how deep a snow pile I could step in without sinking.

We made our way up the trail and reached a good stopping point 0.9 miles below the summit of Algonquin at a trail intersection. One way up led to Wright peak, the other up to Algonquin. We'd decided what our turnaround time was in the parking lot, and agreed we'd reevaluate our summit attempt at that time. Our options were to try for Algonquin at 5,114' or summit Wright instead. We'd passed our turnaround time by a short bit, but after a short discussion, we decided we wanted to try for Algonquin regardless.

Despite hearing reports of brutal wind and decreased visibility, we switched from snowshoes to crampons and moved climbed. When we broke through tree line, I started to get scared. The wind was howling, so fierce that at times that standing seemed difficult. Mid-afternoon snow had come in, as predicted, and a large cloud was enveloping the mountain as we climbed. At no point did I have any doubt Matt was keeping us safe, and I knew he wouldn't have taken us up if he thought there was any danger. But being confronted with that kind of weather - that wind and those temperatures - in such an exposed spot for the first time was scary. Way finding became difficult even though the cairns we were using were quite tall. They'd been enveloped in rime ice and snow, and looked just like any other lump on top of the mountain. But all of the fear aside, it was absolutely beautiful, like another planet only those willing to bear the weather and the conditions got to see.

We made it down safely, switched back to snowshoes, and headed down. I've battled ITBS (Illiotibial Band Syndrome) in the past from running, and my right knee was extremely sore by the end of the descent. Matt suggested I use the poles to take some of the weight off my knee, which helped considerably, but it's definitely something I'm going to need to learn to manage on longer trips. But the pain in my knee didn't matter in the slightest; we'd accomplished something incredible, something I'd always wanted to do, and it felt great.

Holy Moly. I'm so Happy I want to Cry!
Nature of any kind is restorative, and I'm never as happy as I am when I'm outside. Rock climbing, hiking, backpacking, ice climbing, mountaineering, all of it makes me feel more whole. The need to live completely in the moment when I'm on a climb, leaving everything behind, I thirst for it, and am beginning to realize I need to experience that on a regular basis to be happy. I need to be outside. It doesn't always have to be pushing my limits rock climbing, or setting a pace on a hike that makes me want to fall over at the end. It's just being there, feeling the terrain below my feet, feeling the wind on my skin, and knowing I'm just a small part of a very big world.

This weekend was, like I said, a monumental one. I got to try so many things I've only dreamed about trying, never picturing myself as the type of person who'd be doing those things. And granted it wasn't a big mountain, or a super tall ice climb, I still feel like I really accomplished something up in the High Peaks with Alex and Aleya. I've had friends and family members comment on my trip photos, telling me they can't believe the girl they knew could ice climb, or could make it up a mountain in sub zero temperatures and blistering winds.

But I can, and I can't wait to do it again.

My Favorite Skiing Drills

As I mentioned earlier, I learned to ski at the ripe old age of 23 in Alaska with my wonderful significant other as a teacher. Thank goodness Dan was a certified ski instructor at one point in time. Almost three years later, I'm definitely not a pro, but can generally make it down any level of groomed terrain without injury! *knocks on wood*

Dan used a number of drills to teach me technique at various points of what's been a short skiing career, and we still revisit them all at the beginning of the season. I'd like to share some of my favorites, hopefully to the benefit of other beginner and intermediate skiers. I've solicited Dan's help on putting these together - my first almost guest post!

Sideslips
What's the point? This drill teaches you how to control your edges and perfect your balance.
Doing it: I've heard this drill called a number of different things, (side slips, etc.), but I like to think of it as doing my part to keep the snow completely flat, packed, and looking perfectly undisturbed, hence the name I've given it. This drill won't work well on powder, but is perfect for groomed east coast slopes! Stand with your skis perpendicular to the slope, and slowly roll over on to your edge. See if you can hit the edge just perfectly to slide down the hill slowly, sideways, leaving a completely flat patch of white in your path.


Poles as a Tray
What's the point? You'll learn to keep your upper body quiet and initiate the turning motion with your lower body. Helpful for skiers who tend to swing their upper body to turn.
Doing it: Grip the ends (not the ends, but a bit wider than shoulder-width) of your poles with your palms facing upward, (facing downward is as effective), and hold them at shoulder height horizontally in front of you. The poles are your "tray." Execute S-turns while keeping the "tray" as level and undisturbed as possible. Ziggyskier.com advises skiers to pretend they're snooty servants providing afternoon tea - no spilling!

Poles as a Viewfinder
What's the point? By learning to keep your chest pointed at the base of the slope and making turns from your hips, you'll have a lot more control and be able to execute cleaner turns more quickly. It's the same principle as the Tray drill above. You basically want your upper body to float down the hill at about the same height from the ground while your legs and hips do all the work.
Doing it: Grip the middle of the poles, one in each hand, and extend your arms. The poles will create a "viewfinder," as if you're pointing a camera at a point to take a photo. Use a specific view of base of the hill as your photo point, and keep it in your viewfinder as you execute turns down the hill. If you move your viewfinder too much, the photo will be blurry, of course. Ziggyskier.com calls this the "Frame" pole exercise. The "picture" in your viewfinder should be an area at the bottom of the run that is on the fall line. I.e.: where you would end up if you just skied straight down (and I don't mean the hospital).

Single Foot Turn
What's the point? Getting your body to feel what it's like to make perfect turns on both edges with both legs. Edge control. You will be forced to make the turn only on the edge of your ski, because if you let it go flat on one foot, you will fall. Beginner skiers tend to keep their skis flat on the snow and slide through turns, which causes them to catch edges and fall quite often. Also helps skiers link their turns together more smoothly.

Doing it: Ski down the run on both skis and when you begin a turn, lift your inside ski (if you turn left, it is your left ski) off the ground and make the turn only on your outside ski. Once the turn is completed, immediately put your foot down, raise the other, and turn the other way. If you have too much trouble balancing, you can let just the tip of your lifted ski drag on the snow. For a much greater challenge, try lifting the outside ski on each turn instead.

UppaDowna (not to be confused with @UpaDowna!)

What's the point? It forces you to focus on initiating turns by putting pressure on the edges of your skis and shifting your weight.

Doing it: Easy... crouch down into a sitting on the toilet position as you ski along and then slowly stand up as you initiate your turn, so you are standing at the apex of the turn. As you begin to come out of the turn, sit back down. You should be constantly moving up or down, not remaining in the standing or sitting positions for more than a second or two.

Post your favorites in the comments section if I've left any out!