The day I though my computer died…

Late last month, I almost came to the conclusion that my desktop computer was dying on me. It took inordinate amount of time to reboot when stopped, I couldn’t open my Window Photo app, I couldn’t transfer certain documents from my download file and the list of problems went on and on. I spent the rest of the day fishing for solutions, including asking AI to no avail, and finally got deeper into the Dell resources to learn more about my desktop software to resolve the problem. 

I was about to ditch my desktop and buy a new one, even though I was convinced it was not older than 4 to 5 years. When I checked its purchase date, I shocked to find out I had bought it mid January of 1916. About 10 ½ years ago, doesn’t time fly like crazy! In the meanwhile all the updates Dell and Microsoft told me to run were done, I rebooted the computer, it did it promptly and perfectly, and it appeared to have a new lease on life. 

In the process, I was surprised to find out that the average Windows desktop computer lasted 3 to 8 years, if used for daily work. As you might guess industry folks want us to replace our desktop computer every 4 to 5 years, while consumer experience shows that well-maintained machines can easily push 5 to 8 years before becoming obsolete (not counting mine on its 11th year that now works as new!). 

Because desktops are easier to keep cool and maintain than laptops, they tend to last longer. The ultimate lifespan is determined by things like software obsolescence affecting the operating systems and daily applications as well as low system memory and processing power. As for hardware wear the power supply and storage drives usually begin degrading around the 3 to 5-year mark. 

But unlike laptops, desktops allow us to swap in a new Solid-State Drive (SSD) or add more RAM, extending its usable life by several years. The average usable lifespan of a Windows laptop for daily work is less at 3 to 5 years, MacBooks often providing 1 to 2 years longer. Laptops have a tighter configuration and a limited lifespan as a result, including batteries that need replacement after 500 to 1,000 charge cycles (about 2 to 3 years). 

This said, I use a Chrome book when I travel, it’s super cheap and works perfectly well. In closing I had a terrible experience with “All in one” computers made by HP or Sony that didn’t even made it to two years, so my next computer will be another desktop...

Ski tech celebrity

It used to be that being a ski technician with a ski company on the mighty World Cup circuit used to be a relatively lowly job, at least 50 years ago when I was running Look ski binding racing program. Not anymore, that position has since evolved into the celebrity status.

At least, this was the impression I got, when I learned that Niklas Skaardal, son of former ski stars Karin Köllerer and Norwegian great Atle Skaardal, was officially named, late April 2026, Shiffrin's new Atomic ski technician (skiman). 

Skaardal was coaching with the Austrian Ski Federation when he agreed to join the Atomic service team as a ski technician responsible for preparing and maintaining the equipment of Mikaela Shiffrin — the most decorated Alpine skier in the history of the sport. 

The 24-year-old former Austrian national team skier began his work officially on May 4th, before attending his first in-person meetings with the superstar at her regular early-season training bases in Copper Mountain, Colorado. He was mid-renovation on a farm in the Tennengau region when the phone call came that would change the course of his career. 

The former racer, who ended his career in 2024, most recently worked for the Austrian Ski Federation, where he coached the Vorarlberg talents Jakob Greber and Moritz Zudrell."This is an honor for me," Skaardal said of his new role, making it a step closer to celebrity status. 

My point for this whole blog is that the move is highly unusual as in my old world, a ski tech would have aspired and even killed to become a coach but certainly not the other way around! Now that the once discounted profession has become so visible, I might, in a future next life, choose to become the tech of a famous female ski champion, who knows?

Burning bridges (Part three)

As always, in complicated stories the truth is found half-way between its two extremes, and a more accurate way to express the idea would be that when we fully commit to an important goal and have no easy alternatives, our brain often mobilizes resources. 

From attention, to motivation, persistence, and problem-solving. All these skills can substantially increase our chances of success. But, of course, there’s no guarantee of a positive outcome, because performance also depends on our preparation, abilities, external circumstances, and whether the level of stress remains within an optimal range. Did I even mention luck or lack thereof? 

This distinction also sheds light on why some elite performers deliberately create a "point of no return"—announcing a public goal, investing significant resources, or making a firm commitment. They're not just relying on their brain to guarantee success. They're using commitment to make sustained effort more likely. 

Given the philosophical direction of many of my personal questions, whether it’s about meditation, personal growth, aging as a senior, and letting go of resentment, one could see an interesting parallel here. Burning bridges externally is one way to increase commitment. 

Another, often more durable, approach is to "burn the bridges" internally is reaching a point where we no longer want to retreat because the chosen path aligns deeply with our values and identity. In that case, the motivational force comes less from fear of failure and more from a clear sense of purpose. 

Research suggests that this kind of intrinsic commitment tends to be more sustainable and psychologically healthier than commitment driven solely by the absence of alternatives and I agree, that’s probably true!

Burning bridges (Part two)

When people "burn all bridges", that is remove alternatives, commit completely to a project or a task in which retreat is impossible, several mechanisms can indeed improve performance and make for a positive outcome: 

Attention narrows. With no backup plan, the brain devotes more cognitive resources to the task at hand rather than contemplating escape routes. 

Motivation increases. We tend to work harder when the stakes are high. Psychologists sometimes call this a commitment effect. 

Persistence grows. People often tolerate more discomfort, setbacks, and uncertainty when they perceive quitting as impossible. 

Creativity may increase. Constraints can force people to invent solutions they would never have explored otherwise. 

Of course, history offers many examples where extraordinary commitment produced extraordinary achievements: entrepreneurs who invested everything in a company, explorers surviving against all odds, or athletes performing beyond expectations in championship moments.

However, the second part of my statement as I opened up the debate, namely that "our brain will make sure that we come through it with flying colors" could be seen as a bit of banter or exaggeration, and be far less than accurate. In fact, our brain guarantees no such thing. 

Several factors limit this idea as the relationship between stress and performance is often described by the Yerkes–Dodson law: Moderate pressure improves performance, but excessive pressure impairs memory, judgment, creativity, and fine motor skills. This means that biology has limits and no amount of commitment can compensate for insufficient skills, physical limitations, lack of time, impossible odds or total disgust. 

At the same time, fear can become paralyzing. When they have no escape route, some people panic and that erodes their determination. The same "burn the boats" strategy can inspire one person and overwhelm another. Sure, we hear so many stories of people who succeeded because they committed completely. 

We hear far fewer accounts of equally committed people who failed, lost their savings, or suffered severe consequences. Their stories are not sexy and far less visible. 

Next time, we’ll see where the truth about my theory really lies, so don’t go away!

Burning bridges (Part one)

Many times during my life, I’ve burned bridges. On several occasions, it was unsuccessful, but quite a few times it ended up with a positive, if not an excellent outcome. 

For instance, I remember deciding to go to the Cluses boarding high-school, a very tough place, and that adventure worked out very well for me. Then going to work as an R&D technician at Odo, in the god-forsaken town of Morez, Jura, was marred by discouragement and subsequent failure. 

Same thing when I moved to Geneva to work as an airplane mechanic for TWA and couldn’t make it last. Then again, when I work for that land surveyor in Saint Gervais, near Mont Blanc, that venture didn’t long either, or when I worked at that small firm in Cluses, doing an odd, almost indescribable work that would have been seasonal in nature to dovetail with my ski instructor job but didn’t mobilize my personal passion.

I remember that when I foolishly hitchhiked through the Australian Nullarbor desert, that move miraculously worked out. Likewise, taking the plunge at Look both in Nevers and in America or later moving to Utah were successful “burn your boat” type decisions, albeit with their load of pain and challenge. 

The spirit of adventure has always inhabited my persona for good and for worst. I used to believe that “burning bridges” made a lot of things possible as the incentive to succeed was too strong to ignore and made it impossible to fail. Was it’s possible to say that when I engage in a very uncertain, succeed-or-die endeavor my brain would somehow make sure that I’d come through it with flying colors? 

The answer might be, yes—but only up to a point. This idea captures a real psychological phenomenon, yet it goes much further than the evidence supports. Tomorrow, we’ll try to understand why.

Dave Jacobs’ Spyder saga (Part Two)

At the beginning, Jacobs started designing race sweaters for his sons as he became convinced that the equipment available to young skiers was falling short — not fast enough, not protective enough, not built with real racers in mind. Rather than wait for the industry to catch up, he decided to build something better himself. 

He started small as a mail-order operation run out of his Boulder home, offering a race sweater designed with a competitor's eye for performance. It didn't stay small for long. The turning point came when Jacobs designed a pair of navy blue racing pants with yellow ribbed padding for protection. 

Fellow racers thought the pads looked like spider legs — and Jacobs, ever attuned to a good idea, ran with it. In 1978, he formally named the brand "Spyder," from the Ferrari Spyder, one of his favorite cars. What began as a homemade fix for junior racers grew into a global performance-apparel company. 

Jacobs pushed Spyder to focus relentlessly on aerodynamics and materials science, chasing the same margins that mattered to him as a racer — fractions of a second, degrees of warmth, ounces of weight. 

That focus paid off: Spyder went on to become an official apparel supplier to both the US and Canadian Ski Teams, outfitting athletes at the highest levels of the sport, including the Winter Olympics. 

Colleagues and competitors alike have long placed Jacobs among a small group of ski-industry pioneers who built their businesses the same way they raced — by identifying a problem on the hill and refusing to accept it. His path, from a kitchen-table mail-order business to Olympic podiums, became something of a legend within the ski community. 

Unfortunately after bouncing from private equity groups to incompetent investors, the brand is now defunct, and that’s really too bad. Jacobs is survived by his family, including the sons whose junior-racing days first inspired him to pick up a needle and thread. His broader legacy, though, extends to the countless skiers around the world who have raced — and stayed warmer, safer and faster — in gear built on the principles he first sketched out decades ago. 

David Jacobs was a true ski industry visionary who will be missed dearly. RIP. 

Dave Jacobs, 1933-2026 (Part one)

The former alpine racer and coach who built Spyder, one of skiing's top brands, died early this month. He was 92. Jacobs's life was centered on nearly every level of ski racing, from the start gate to the factory floor. He began as a competitor, by becoming in 1957 the first Canadian to win a national downhill championship, a breakthrough that established him as one of the country's top skiers of his era. 

Jacobs was born in Montreal, Canada, and began skiing at age 13. At 21, he won the Quebec Kandahar, and from 1957 through 1961 was a member of the Canadian National Ski Team. In 1957 he captured the title of Canadian Downhill Ski Champion, and was the top-ranked member of the Canadian FIS Team the following season. 

He later moved from racing into coaching, taking on the role of the Canadian National Ski Team's first full-time head coach from 1964 to 1966. In that position, Jacobs worked closely with a rising generation of Canadian athletes, applying the technical instincts he'd developed as a racer to help shape their training. In 1965, Jacobs was contacted by Bob Lange and asked if the Canadian team was prepared to test the boots. 

When they did, Dave Jacob said that "they were really bad boots," so he traveled to the factory in Dubuque (Iowa) and suggested a number of technical improvements to be made on the product. In June 1966, three pairs of re-designed boots incorporating the required changes were made available to the Canadian team when they trained at Mt. Hood; Gerry Rinaldi, Rod Hebron and Nancy Greene tried them on, went skiing, and they thought they were great. 

At Portillo, Jacobs repaired and rebuilt racers’ Lange boots then and there, and wrote copious reports home to the factory. As a result, the boot evolved, growing higher and stiffer. This is when the boot started to become popular with top racers. Nancy Greene started winning on the brand new World Cup circuit wearing Lange. That same year, Lange-Jacobs Inc was formed and in 1967 opened a small factory in St. Jerôme, near Montreal, to assemble the boots. 

This is where I became aware of him. After that company merged with Lange USA in 1969, David moved to Boulder, sat on the board of directors, and was the company's vice president from 1969-1972. During this time, he designed the first Lange competition ski boot, which became the hallmark of World Cup ski boots and predecessor to the Lange race boots used today. Jacobs's most lasting contribution, however, came after his coaching career ended. 

It's in 1978 that he started what would become a world-famous sportswear company right out of his Boulder kitchen. Stay with us for the rest of the story...