A step down, now what? (Part One)

Since life is far from being a linear experience, as time goes by and as we age, there are unavoidable “steps down” that come along the way, and I believe that logically, for every “step down” we should imagine and implement a “step up” to compensate for it. If one is physical, the compensatory other could be mental, spiritual, or just perhaps physical too, but much easier to carry on. 

This would offset a sense of loss through an equal transfer into something different. This idea that popped up inside my mind this morning, strikes me as surprisingly practical. Perhaps a personal version of homeostasis, the way living systems maintain balance by adjusting one part when another shifts. In that case it applies to the emotional and existential terrain of aging, change, and loss.

It’s probably my way of rejecting the myth of linear decline that treats aging or setbacks as a one‑way slide downward. My view acknowledges the “step down” but refuses to let it define the whole trajectory. Instead, I’m proposing an adaptive upward motion which is not denial, but recalibration. I like it because it matches the dynamic nature of life. Physical limitations don’t have to be the end of growth; they can signal the beginning of a different kind of development. 

A loss in one domain can open space in another without being a compensation in a shallow sense but a whole redistribution of energy. This could mirror how we naturally evolve. For instance a runner with knee problems becomes a swimmer, someone who loses physical stamina deepens their intellectual or creative life or a person who retires from a demanding job invests becomes a philosopher. I’m just articulating that instinct consciously. 

While a “step down” often feels imposed, this concept reframes it as an opportunity to choose a “step up”, something intentional, nourishing, and self‑directed. That alone can soften the sense of loss. Of course, it’s not about pretending the decline didn’t happen. It’s about refusing to let it be the whole story. In many ways, I see this as a workable tool, not just a philosophy that would begin by noticing the step down. Instead, it’s choosing a step up in another dimension while letting the two coexist without resentment. 

Some kind of an emotional counterweight, a deeply human idea, honest about limitation, but not fatalistic. It respects the reality of aging while preserving the possibility of growth. And it avoids the trap of trying to “win” against time; instead, it suggests adapting with grace and creativity. I’m so grateful, this thought came to me. 

Tomorrow, I’ll share with you what actually triggered it.

The apprentice diagnostician (Part Two)

Playing diagnostician and not succeeding the first time is a common occurrence. This practice, in my opinion, is more art than science and is linked to some important factors. The first one is that our brains love an obvious culprit. 

For instance, when something breaks, it feels satisfying to identify a single source. New device installed? Must be the device. We’re wired to prefer clean narratives over messy systems. It’s very hard to think thoroughly about systems, because they’re inherently complicated. Most real‑world problems involve interactions between multiple elements. 

To return to yesterday’s thermostat story, there are so many things involved aside from the thermostat itself, the furnace, the electronics, the wiring, the ducts and the various sensors. 

Still, our intuition ignores these other components. It’s the same reason people misdiagnose car problems, software bugs, or even interpersonal conflicts. 

In addition, the familiar quickly becomes invisible. We had that furnace running like a clock for a dozen years, so as a loyal servant, it faded into the background. 

The thermostat was the novelty, so it got the blame. This is the “assumed good” bias — we trust what we know. All this to say that my recent experience is just how most professionals in engineering, medicine, and aviation describe diagnostic errors. 

They warn against “anchoring” onto one explanation too early and “confirmation bias” by only noticing evidence that supports our initial assumption. We can only break out of that loop by stepping back and widening the frame. That’s the real skill: not just fixing one lone defective part, but recognizing a narrow way of thinking. If anything, my story is a perfect reminder that most problems aren’t isolated but relational. 

The thermostat wasn’t misbehaving alone; it was dancing with a partner I forgot to watch!

The apprentice diagnostician (Part One)

No matter what we’re trying to resolve, coming up with the right diagnosis isn't always simple. In recent months, I've struggled with the functionality of some new Google-Nest thermostats, and on repeated occasions, I’ve been so narrowly focused on these specific devices, that I forgot that "it takes two to tango". 

In my whole myopia, I had forgotten that my heating furnace could play some role attributed solely to my thermostats' behavior. That let me to take a serious, long look at the furnace and, to make a long story short, I finally determined that it was indeed the source of all my troubles. I have tried this with ski boots when the main problem was not canting, but their longitudinal placement on my skis, or in struggling with ski-tuning issues when my technique constituted in fact the insurmountable hurdle. 

We always learn a lot from our self-administered sloppy diagnostics. Isn't it a common mistake we all make when trying to resolve a problem? We're so obsessed with one piece that we conveniently forgot that it might be perfectly linked to another one in the overall puzzle? What I just described is one of the most universal cognitive traps we humans fall into. 

That’s what is called “tunnel vision” or “fixation error”. When something isn’t working, the mind instinctively narrows its focus to the most obvious or most recently changed component. In that most recent case, the new thermostats were the shiny, suspicious newcomers, so they drew all the attention. Meanwhile, the furnace, the “old reliable maid”, quietly escaped my angry scrutiny. 

If you’re curious to find out the causes for this weird way of thinking, read tomorrow’s blog...

Salomon’s boot business (Part Two)

The lack of performance available in its rear-entry boot left Salomon vulnerable to criticism coming from better skiers, the retailers’ selling staff and the specialty press. This male-dominated group, at the time, suddenly and forcefully turned its back on the rear-entry design, to the point that Salomon's R&D team didn't have the time nor the leeway to further improve upon the concept.

This happened to the chagrin of countless users who love its convenience and inherent simplicity,  as well as large volume rental operators. I might also add that to a  degree, it probably hurt the growth of skiing. Probably blinded  by its efforts to launch the ski, Salomon blinked and missed the opportunity to remain the dominant brand in boots. 

By the late 1980s, rear‑entry boots were widely adopted by recreational skiers, and Salomon was considered the market leader in the category and particularly in comfort‑oriented boot design, that are the ones the vast majority of the market want and need. When the rear-entry boot design fell out of favor by the mid to early 90s, and the company scrambled to acquire San Giorgio (a reactive purchase of an also-ran Italian brand making 4 buckle boots), 

Salomon had to learn from scratch the art of making conventional boots that worked, and as result, went from dominant to non‑competitive after the mid 1990s. This was one of the most dramatic product‑driven declines in ski‑equipment history, but it was never quantified publicly. 

Today’s boot market is totally fragmented among Lange, Tecnica, Nordica, Atomic, Dalbello, and Salomon with no single brand holding an overwhelming share. Still, Salomon returned to being a respected boot brand, especially with models like the X‑Pro and S/Pro but never again dominated the way it did during the rear‑entry era. 

The brand remained strong and even grew in other categories (skis, clothing, footwear, later trail running) but is now far more associated with trail running and outdoor footwear than with ski boots. A surprising turn-around from a pioneer!

Salomon’s boot business (Part One)

After writing the blog comparing Nordica to Salomon, I decided to add some thoughts about Salomon and its remarkable influence and legacy on the entire ski business. 

From artisan to industrialist,  Geoges Salomon was focused on scaling up his metal ski edge business into, at first, bringing to market rudimentary safety ski bindings with releasable toe-unit and cable system before ushering in modern ski bindings as we know them today, while at the same time, hiring Roger Pirot to run his marketing department. Simultaneously, this appointment turned his already efficient manufacturing company into a juggernaut marketing machine. 

The development of the Salomon ski boot was part of a growth plan capable of offering bindings, boots and skis as part of a whole package. It also coincided with a vanguard company's focus on its all-powerful retailer network that could make or break any ski supplier as the market was then fully dominated by ski or sport shops. 

The bindings and then the boots were developed with ease of selling, installing and adjusting in mind and not necessarily with a deliberate focus for on snow performance as this was totally secondary. With this consideration in mind, its sole boot division was expected and able to pay for developing the ski, the third component of its plan.

Only Austria’s Marc Girardelli heavily modified it to bring a semblance of functionality to it. No reliable source gives a detailed, technical list of the exact modifications made to Marc Girardelli’s boots. The “bucket” that Salomon rear entries were, had to be “tortured” by adding lateral stiffness through internal stiffening plates, reinforced cuff pivot using stiffer plastics. 

Girardelli’s liners were foam‑injected liners with heel‑hold reinforcements. Flex also had to be improved as the SX series were way too soft for racing in stock form. Salomon’s race‑room stiffened the rear spine and added flex‑limit stops. Forward lean, boot-board angle and canting were also modified. Closure and buckles were also beefed-up with shorter and stiffer cables, high‑tension cams, reinforced heel‑retention mechanisms that improved the biggest weakness of rear‑entry designs. 

The talented Austrian racer made up the difference. Salomon had no other option but totally transform a boot never meant for racing use in the hope to create its non-existent performance image. In the next blog, we’ll see how this fairy tale of sorts ended. 

Turning routine a bright spot...

Routine occupies a huge part of our lives and is, for the most part, necessary. I was thinking about it while preparing the morning coffee. Still many folks end up loathing it and I always look for ways of making routine more palatable and even exciting. It’s undeniable that routine gets a bad rap because most of us associate it with monotony, obligation, or the erosion of spontaneity. But routine itself isn’t the enemy, it’s in fact the way we relate to it. 

The truth is that some of the most creative, fulfilled, and resilient people rely on routines not as cages, but as launchpads. With that in mind, I wanted to explore ways to make routine feel less like a treadmill and more like a pleasant rhythm. Perhaps we should begin by turning routine into ritual that we have to do with intention. An approach that I follow systematically is trying to improve the ways in which I execute all of my routines. The action might be the same, like making coffee, going for a walk, cleaning up the kitchen and it’s up to us to embellish it.

Our routines say: “I must” but a ritual would say: “This matters.” We can shift the emotional burden of a routine by adding small sensory elements, like a special mug, a favorite music or a thought of gratitude. Then we can add a tiny bit of novelty to what we have to do. We probably don’t need constant change, but just small injections of difference. 

Things like standing on one leg when I brush my teeth, taking a different route on our daily walk, changing the order of our morning steps, choosing to listen to different music, podcasts or just silence. Also trying a new breakfast menu once a week. These tiny variations can keep us alert without destabilizing what’s needed to do. We can also break a rigid approach by replacing linear routines that go 1, 2, 3, 4 and repeat. 

Replacing predictability with creating modular routines, like choosing different morning options, rotating set of evening wind‑downs or adopting a flexible work-start ritual. This preserves predictability while giving us some control over what’s necessary. We can also turn routine from obligation into meaning. A routine becomes draining when it feels like maintenance and it becomes more energizing when it feels like alignment. We would accomplish this by asking ourselves, what value does this routine support? How will this make me grow and make me reach what’s important to me? 

If we can connect a routine to identity, like “I’m someone who takes care of my body,” or “I’m someone who creates calm in my home” it no longer feels like drudgery. Another trick is to pair routines with pleasure, for instance, by only listening to our favorite music while doing chores, having a special playlist for the commute or listening to podcasts or audiobooks while exercising. Finally, notice and appreciate the results of our routine work as it’s filled with tiny satisfactions we often overlook. 

Things like a clean countertop, the first sip of good morning coffee or the pleasure of perfectly clearing the driveway from snow. I’ve heard people say that routine is the “scaffolding for spontaneity”, that it creates freedom and give us more space for creativity, exploration, excellent work and play. Routine should be seen as a floor, not a ceiling!

Nordica HF Pro vs. Salomon SX92

My surprisingly high level of satisfaction about the new Nordica HF Pro is is changing my biased view on rear-entry boots. To illustrate this point, I'm comparing that new product to the Salomon SX92 that came up on the market 35 years ago. 

In what follows I’m attempting to show a fair comparison between the two products. Even though both boot designs share the rear-entry concept, they have very little in common in terms of skiability, comfort, and construction.

For its part, the Nordica HF Pro, if sized correctly, might not be as easy to get in and out as its Salomon counterpart, but still better than a conventional 4-buckle boot, especially if its shell is stiff, temperatures are low and the user is old. The Nordica uses a thicker, cork heat-moldable liner that provides even support, without pressure points. 

The Salomon had much thinner liners, a cable tightening system over the instep that could be felt and a rigid tongue offering the comfort skiers still accepted in the 1990s, with a last often too wide and a flex too stiff, depending on the foot and also with much less precision and support. 

In terms of skiability, the Nordica HF Pro (flex 110 or120) features a laterally stiffer shell providing plenty of energy transmission for recreational to performance-oriented use, in a smooth, progressive and predictable behavior. Perhaps not a boot quite fit for competitive racing but that could easily be modified and adapted towards that use. 

In contrast, the Salomon was stiff in the front but lacked lateral rigidity, offered limited energy transmission, especially on modern carving skis with a notable lack of progressiveness, exhibiting sometimes an "on/off" behavior. 

One of the shining features of the Nordica is its remarkable heel-hold that comes from its “high-sill” in the back, making entry somewhat difficult if the boot has been sized right and renders liner removal almost impossible. The Nordica’s support is found in the shell material selected, like PU or Grilamid depending on the version. 

Its weight is reasonable and, being a new product, its durability remains to be seen. The bottom line is that the Nordica HF Pro may look like a "modern SX," but is infinitely better, taking all the brilliant benefits of ​​rear entry, but correcting most of its flaws. 

That’s probably why I’m enchanted with the product after using it just 15 times.