Saturday afternoon, while Julia took a break in the lodge, I found myself alone on the Saddleback Express chairlift here in Park City.

Being alone on a chairlift is a beautiful experience. Gliding silently through the air, surrounded by aspen trees and falling snow, an incredible feeling of joy overtook me.

I'm alive.

And life is good.

Passing over a black diamond run, I noticed a skier with a rather unusual posture. He was zig-zagging down the run, but each zig or zag was shorter than most, and he'd come to nearly a complete stop at each turn.

Had the lift not stopped, I probably wouldn't have thought any more about it. But as I waited for the lift to resume climbing, I watched his entire descent.

As he approached where I sat, I realized he was very close to the ground.

Too close to be standing on skis.

"What am I seeing here?"

Then, as he slid closer. . .

"Holy shit! This guy has no legs!"

No legs! The dude was sitting on what looked like a motorcycle saddle mounted to a single ski connected by a large spring. His poles, shortened to accommodate a sitting height, had small runners on the bottom rather than spikes.

And he was absolutely shredding. Legs or not, there's no way in hell I could have followed this guy.

He passed beneath me as the lift resumed, and I remembered a trip five or six years ago to Whistler Mountain Bike Park in British Columbia. While waiting in line for that lift, there was a guy in front of me with no legs and no bike. Without legs, of course, he couldn't ride a regular bike. But he could ride a specially built recumbent bike (the kind you sit down on).

Like the seated skier, he was absolutely shredding; no way I could have kept up with him, either.

As an active person, I've often thought I'd rather die than lose my legs, yet these two are doing the same things I love without their legs (and making me feel guilty for ever having that thought).

"Legs? What legs? I don't need no stinkin' legs!" I imagine them saying.

In a freak accident, a friend lost a part of her body several months ago and has since undergone several surgeries to patch things up as best as possible.

Thus far, bandages have shielded her eyes from the full view of how her body now looks.

Today is the big reveal.

She's nervous, of course.

I can't even pretend to comprehend.

But I do know this. Human beings have an incredible capacity for perseverance. We can overcome almost anything if we maintain control of our minds.

And my friend is an amazing person. Plus, she's already been through more hell than most of us will ever know.

She might not know this yet, but I know this. She will not simply endure this tragedy; she will overcome it.

In fact, I dare say she'll make this tragedy her bitch.

And the next time I see her, whatever we're doing, she'll be shredding.

And I won't be able to keep up.