SNOW Alps 25-26 web - Flipbook - Page 99
Up at six in the morning, she does exercises to get her legs ready and
both muscles and brain firing for skiing. If there’s business to take care of
that happens early so her day on the mountain is without interruption. If
she’s not skiing by herself, a revolving posse of female friends around town
will assemble to join her — though Handler will beat them to the punch and
be outside waiting with skis ready when they arrive. (Scarred by childhood
memories of parents who were never on time to pick her up from school, she’s
become the queen of punctuality.)
And then it’s off to see what the day will bring.
“I love the idea of being on a mountain, going and getting a snack, and then,
you know, cruising around for the rest of the day and then going to après,” she
says of this most cherished aspect of ski culture. “Après is my dinner. I'm in
bed by eight pm.”
As for what she looks for in a ski partner, Handler had an early lesson in
not being too desperate for company, and so seriousness of any sort other
than for safety reasons is off the menu. “You’ve gotta be laughing during the
day. You don't always have to be the one laughing, but you’ve gotta get the
joke,” she tells me. “There has to be a jovial vibe and conviviality.”
Soon enough, our discussion of potential ski buddies evolves into running
a contest for deliverance of a worthy mountain man, one I imagine too perfect
to exist in the man-child land of Whistler: “Someone who knows their way
around the mountain, has a full-time job, knows how to have fun but isn’t a hot
mess, is okay to stop for a margarita at 11.30 am and continue skiing,” she says.
“Oh — and they’re also required to be in shape. No laziness. No sloppiness.”
The fun Handler has on the mountains with her current circle of Whistler
friends led to the start of an annual birthday tradition of sneaking off to a
corner of the resort to capture a photo of her skiing topless with a drink in one
hand and a joint in the other. This celebration of anything-goes ski culture
recently morphed into renting an entire mountain in Idaho to celebrate her
50th. “By the way, people keep saying I’m topless,” she says, “but I’ve had my
top on for the last four years — ever since my nephews told me they were being
embarrassed by having photos of me taped to their high-school lockers.”
It’s a risible real-life visual, and a lot of Handler’s comedy similarly makes
hay of her life choices — entrepreneurship (purchasing a first-class air ticket
on a family vacation from the proceeds of a bootleg lemonade stand holds
pride of place in this canon); a progressive, inclusive politic (and skewering of
the contrary); a singlehood of oscillating relationships and non-relationships
(the former somewhat sacrosanct, the latter grist for the mill); not having
children (but having tons of them in her life anyway); and an enjoyment of
recreational substances (for which she never advocates but merely notes
they work for her). She speaks of each of these with the kind of clarity that
resonates self-actualization, so instead of leveraging humor from the more
commonly trod ground of I’m-a-mess-and-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing,
Handler’s lives in the land of I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing-and-this-is-stillthe-kind-of-chaos-I-generate.”
Choosing to become a good skier also falls into the self-actualization
category, but the activity itself, Handler believes, is a net generator of clarity
that contributes positively to other decisions. “I love having an edible and
going out and appreciating the mountains a little bit more. But I also feel like
[skiing is] a time to rebuild — a time to give back to yourself and regenerate,
rejuvenate,” she says. “I look at it as a healthy contribution to [well-being]
99
