On ICE and Snow.

Liz vs Hannah - 2003

Dear friends, 

We are only thirteen days into 2026. For Minnesotans, it feels as if the year has come and gone already. Stress has been high and communities feel divided. This blog is a place of peace. I hope it can be a safe respite from the storm outside our doors, whatever that may look like or sound like for you and yours. 

Snowbird - 2008

For me, frigid temperatures translate to winter sport. 

This week and last I have had the immense privilege of volunteering with Padraigs Place, a local organization which provides adaptive ski lessons to athletes with differences. It is a mission, and an activity, close to my heart.

The Kiresuk's - Date unknown

(Alpine) skiing has always been a staple in my life. My father grew up a stone's throw away from Buck Hill, a small ski area in Burnsville, Minnesota. He learned to ski by trailing lessons and eavesdropping on feedback. 

His dad skied too, though Grandpa Tom was particular about when and how he participated: only on sunny Tuesdays when the thermostat climbed above twenty degrees fahrenheit.

My parents' honeymoon was on snow as well. It was mom’s first attempt at downhill skiing, and from her perspective, it's amazing the young marriage survived that trip west. 

Baby Hannah skiing - Around 2000

Dad put me on skis as soon as I could toddle. My skills were fairly advanced by the time my sister joined me on the hill five years later. I was soon enrolled in Buck Hills development race team (D-Team), training on Saturday mornings and Tuesday evenings. Races were all day affairs marked by the duct-taping of bibs, the ringing of cowbells, and the distribution of ribbons. Liz was enrolled in lessons while my parents were preoccupied with me. As such, her skill on skis accelerated rapidly, alongside a knack for speed which soon outshined my own. 

Nastar Nationals, Park City Utah - 2009

She joined the D-Team a few years earlier than what was technically allowed and advanced to Erik Sailor's USSA team soon after. Her practices were much more intense than mine, requiring 4-5 days of instruction per week. The race hill, aptly named Olympic Dreams, was equipped with a high speed rope.* On every day of the week, you could see young athletes outside in the cold, slamming their way through slalom courses. They receive feedback in brief after each run only to hop back on the rope and up the hill. Buck Hill is known for producing world class racers in this manner (think Lindsey Vonn).**

Liz’s races took our family west to Colorado, Utah, and Montana on a recurring basis. I went when funds allowed, or when I did not have other obligations in music and Girl Scouts. It was my turn to be alone while my parents were distracted, choosing to ski independently in the trees. I found a happy balance between family and freedom on these ventures; skiing was an activity that served both my relational and personal needs. 

2013

I joined the school race team as a seventh-grader, bussing to Afton Alps each afternoon following classes. Afton does not have a rope tow, thank goodness, though practicing under the lights was hard enough without one. I loved the rhythmic slapping of break-away gates against man-made snow, the friendships built between runs, and the quiet solace of the sport itself. I took a few years off from skiing my first two years of high school to focus on tuba. I rejoined my junior year and was named captain as a senior. At that point, however, I was rarely able to be on the snow for the entire practice. Illness followed, and it seemed like the sport that formed so much of my identity was lost for good.

Enter adaptive skiing.

Adaptive skiing at Buck Hill - 2015

My first time in a bi-ski was jarring, it was so different from the sport I grew up with. But it was snow. We didn’t have the setup quite right at first. I could not support myself in the ski, let alone be an active participant. It was frustrating to be dependent on others to ski. I continued navigating these challenges. With practice and help, I was finally able to initiate my own turns. 

"ski walker" - 2021

Dad and I got creative when my condition and progress plateaued. We adapted an old walker to act as a skiing frame of sorts. The device was built and refined over the summers and trialed in the winter. Our project ultimately served more as entertainment than it did productive skiing, but my infrequent moments of (dangerously) flying down Buck Hill brought me much needed reminders of the freedom I once took for granted. 

I felt gratitude in every turn. There was never any stress over time or form. The (not so simple) fact that I was on the snow was more than enough. 

Queenstown, New Zealand - August 2023

My first time skiing after recovery was in August 2023, in Queenstown, New Zealand. I had just finished nine tremendous months of growth and independence on a working holiday. 

Dad and Liz joined me at the end of my trip to see firsthand the milestones I had met in their absence. They carted my ski boots across oceans, excited for two days of skiing together once more. 

Queenstown, New Zealand - August 2023

I was anxious as the cab approached the ski field on our first day—and not only because of the steep drops that lined the mountain pass.

Despite marathon running, a physically demanding job, the tuba-ing, and new muscles, my body was fundamentally changed from the one who once flowed effortlessly downhill. It was a moment of great emotion, shared by the communities which brought me to that point. 

Queenstown - August 2023

Then I returned home for school and marching band. I was so busy that fall, skiing was far from my mind. It was not until the winter of 2024 that I really got my sea (ski?) legs back in ernest. In an unexpected turn of events, I began volunteering as a helper with Padraigs Place and even found myself skiing out west with my family once more. 

Jackson Hole - Dec 2024

This season, I have gotten on snow twice, both times as a volunteer. 

After dad and I finished our instructor duties for the day, we sneak off for a few runs. To put on skis and be fast is a feeling I crave. The deep burn in my thighs. The whistle of wind on my helmet. The sting of cold air on damp skin. On snow in this way, I feel connected to my past. But skiing also frames my future.

Roundhill - August 2025

I found myself back in New Zealand this August, this time for school research. Though my trip was succseful, there were still many big emotions and a even few hard days. I felt panicked by all the mountains I had yet to climb and paralyzed the work ahead. In this moment, I was entirely unable to stay present. Far from home and I still felt the need to get away.

Roundhill - August 2025

I was staying at a hostel on the shore of Lake Tekapo at the time. There was a ski area, Round Hill, not far from my address. It reminded me of Buck, small and family operated. I decided that I would drive myself along the “mountain pass” (not as bad as the ones in Queenstown, but still scary when you are on your own), and go for the afternoon lift ticket. I rented gear in town and spent the next three hours skiing independently in near perfect conditions. 

Roundhill - August 2025

The ragged tips of the mountains ripped into a cloudless blue sky. The sun burned brightly, reflecting off the white snow. Midway up the mountain sat a café (bar) where I stopped to take in the view and preserve the feeling. Seated in an Adirondack chair at the edge of the world, I saw clearly the moments that had led to this milestone, how my twisted life journey had brought me to that day. I was a world away from home yet I had never been closer to my center: to my childhood, to my illness, or to Buck Hill. The calm waters of the lake also reflected where I was headed, how my goals and aspirations fit into a puzzle in ways I did not yet understand. The whole day acted as a deep breath, a profound moment of grounding. 

I cherish this sport in all its capacities. In the coldest time of year, I hope you can stay present and take peace in the knowledge that hard times carry lessons in hindsight; your actions today will define the spirt of tomorrow.

Photo from the Kiresuk family archives. Date and location unknown.

Until next time. 

In solidarity, 

Hannah.  

*The ski run Olympic Dreams was formerly known as Ballroom. 

**The rope tow on Olympic Dreams was named after and dedicated to Vonn in 2019. Vonn will be competing in the Olympics again later this winter, another incredible comeback story.