A band director strutted down the high school hallway, inexplicably donning a bright blue U.S. Ski Team jacket. 

“How many of those do you have, Sederquist?” the principal asked with a quizzical smile. 

“More than I deserve,” I said, inadvertently, but appropriately, quoting Dave Ramsey. Ramsey after all, led me to buy the jacket in the first place. You see, I could summarize Financial Peace University in five words: be as frugal as possible.

The philosophy has successfully prevented me from buying new dress pants or a collared shirt since I was a senior in college (my wife will begrudgingly remind readers that it has not stopped me from buying any Swix product during the same timeframe) and one fall Saturday it led me to the Steamboat Winter Sports Club ski swap. Thanks to an invention called Nordic Combine, people in Steamboat Springs are practically giving away old red, white, and blue ski jackets. U.S. Ski Team apparel is more common there than chicken man posts are on Eagle County Classifieds.

So, for $50, I received a pair of jackets that others have dedicated their childhood, teenage and adult lives pursuing (many of whom come up empty). There is little honor in my transaction compared to those who strive valiantly to represent our country on the biggest stage. If it’s any consolation, I’m willing and available for the latter duties, too. Unfortunately, understanding national team criteria requires a law degree, and I have diapers to change, games to cover, gravel roads to ride and podcasts to make anyway. Also, I lack talent.

Then again, as coveted and monumental as U.S. Ski Team apparel is for the person who earns it the hard way, at the end of the day, it’s really just a hat or a shirt. A jacket. One that, like this ragged, old 1990’s-style purple Columbia in the back of my closet, might end up at a second-hand sale. I can already imagine some balding old fellow picking it off the rack and, with unjustified exuberance, turning to his wife (eye-roll at the ready) and exclaiming, “this jacket must have belonged to a skieologian!”

Still, my half-Benjamin investment has 1) granted me unquestioned access to various rooms at World Cup stadiums and Team USA training camps, 2) made me feel like the coolest person in any other room I enter, and 3) perhaps most functionally, provided warmth during thousands of hours spent Nordic skiing.

Another way of putting it: those iconic jackets gave me the imagined pro-athlete identity I’ve always wanted to embrace, they gave me confidence and they got me out the door. Though it’s not a Roth IRA, per se, even Ramsey would probably agree that’s a good return on investment.

I also bought that day — and I think true fashion experts would say this is a far, far bigger steal — a women’s extra-small ‘wind-pro’ (the expensive ones!) Melanzana for my wife for $30. The next available appointment just to go into the Melanzana store in Leadville is sometime in the next millennium. A great deal on a great product — and it’s for my wife? Michael Scott would call that a win-win-win. 

Christmas is great, but swap season is truly the most wonderful time of the year. Events like VeloSwap in Denver combine a level of thrift-store hunting, avante-garde fashion-seeking and U.S. Ski Team impostering capable of attracting and impressing even the likes of Mark Bricklin, a man who — and I know Dave Barry would qualify this by saying “I’m not making this up” — probably spends more money a month renting out storage space for his garage sale knick-knacks, Lindsey Vonn posters, and Audi Birds of Prey divot removers and bottle-openers than I receive annually for writing these columns. 

Fake it ’til you make it….

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy with my pay! Thanks to Ramsey, it gives me enough money to buy oatmeal to fuel my training …and a jacket to wear while I’m doing it. Look good, feel good, am I right?

Or in the case of the Olympic dreamers (like me) still hoping to walk in an opening ceremony: fake it ’til you make it.

…or just make your own team….