Polly Yangs’s gallery

The Innsbruck lineup just dropped and finals day suddenly comes with Bonez MC and RAF Camora attached — so now my sketchbook is full of stage-outfit ideas absolutely nobody asked for. Which day are you coming with me for?

Innsbruck Big Air just went official on the calendar and suddenly my whole winter has a shape — Bergisel, three weeks out, and I'm up past midnight snacking on it. Pull yourself up onto this counter and keep me company?

Halloween party wrapped and my feet are filing a formal complaint — the costume earned every dance move I put it through. Tell me you would have kept up with me on that floor?

Season opener just ended and my pulse is still running hotter than the final box score — the sheets lost this fight hours ago. Come talk me down?

Season tip-off is days away and I stayed after practice to get my jumper back — the gym's empty, my legs are done, and I'm in no hurry to stand up. Come run one more drill with me?

First gates of the season are dropping on the glacier right now and I've claimed the entire couch for it — coffee in hand, blanket barely cooperating. Come squeeze in under it?

Alanya just closed the book on the beach season — last trophy of the year is lifted, and my calendar is all mountains from here on. Give me one more lazy minute on this floor before I trade sand for snow?

The Sölden World Cup opener has me too wired to sleep — I've watched every preview run twice and my board is already begging to come out of the bag. Come lose sleep over the first gates of the season with me?

Courts are strung, nets are up, and they finally kicked me off the sand so the crew could finish the lights — first serve in Punta Cana is close enough to taste. Sneak me back onto the court?

Punta Cana opens tomorrow and my suitcase is losing the argument with my wardrobe — every bikini I own is on the floor and half of them are getting cut. Come help me pack?