I can think of no metaphor to accurately describe the stillness of the mountain air at higher altitudes or the combination of sheer exhilaration and fear that fills my lungs every time I ski down a mountain trail. But the picture above captures me in action.
I am a woman of a certain age, if you get my drift. It is a time in life when the healing time for broken bones has become a concern. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest between two mighty mountain ranges. Because of that I have a healthy respect for the majesty of mountains. But I had never truly connected with mountains before learning to ski; nor did I know one person of color who skied until I started the university.
I considered learning to ski for social reasons. But that conflicted with my understanding of myself as an aging athlete. I did not have the courage to learn a new skill at which I might not be good. My real reason for holding back had more to do with facing my fear of falling down.
When a friend who had skied many of the dream resorts moved east, I once again got the opportunity to learn to ski. We went to Park City, Utah. My friends were off to the blue and black trails. I took adult group lessons six hours a day for 3 days. We spent time initially on the bunny slope learning how to get on and off the lift, perfecting the pizza wedge and learning to stop. Beginning adults and children, although in separate classes, learned the exact same things.
So the first time coming down a real green trail, I can’t tell you how humbling it was to see four year olds zooming past me. They were low to the ground, and unlike me, leaning into the mountain. Fear had me standing far too tall trying to ensure I stayed upright for the ride down. It was not until I realized that the better use of my time might be spent learning how to properly get up “when†I fell that falling ceased to be my issue. I have carried this lesson over to other aspects of my life.
On the fourth day, we took the gondola up “into†mountains to ski the Canyons. My heart raced. Please understand, I have looked out over mountain tops from an airplane, driven through them from one state to another, but I had never been “into’ the mountains. Once ensconced in the mountain range, I begin to truly understand why people ski.
Yes it is to go fast. Without a doubt that is a super feeling. But more than that, fresh air fills the lungs and the cells, the heart rate slows down and endomorpins send messages of calm. As you crouch low and lean into the mountain moving in virtual silence, the impulse to control evaporates and the energy that you are flies down the hill with all the birds.
Anu Prestonia says
What? That’s you in that get-up? You don’t look like a woman of a certain age to me. You like someone about to soar. Great read! You almost had me considering this cold weather sport with the thought of flying down hill with the birds…
boomrwiz says
Yes Anu that IS me. You’d love it. Maybe not as much as the ocean but I can hear your laughter now.