I’ve written before about my less than stellar skiing experiences. And as much as I consider myself a “get back on the horse” kind of girl, I’ve been skittish ever since. Willing to try, but still skittish. So when friends invited us skiing this past Sunday, I agreed, but in the back of my mind figured I’d probably spend a good chunk of the day in the lodge, sipping hot chocolate and watching through the windows.
Not even close.
We started off easy – bunny slope, then a few green trails. Each time down I felt more comfortable and more in control. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t ready to tackle any black diamonds, but a blue trail? I thought I could handle it.
And so we went. Up up up to the steepest blue trails I’ve ever seen (no, that’s not saying a lot, but still), and all I could think was, oh crap – how am I going to get down? And also, this is now feeling like a really bad time to give up cursing.
But I did it. I started off as slowly as possible and wove my way down what felt like a cliff. Apparently, I even did it with some semblance of control. And if I cried and shook a little like crazy out of fear? Well, I suppose it’s all part of my process.
I’ll admit – after I finally made it down the trail, I wasn’t too excited about was vehemently against going up that side of the mountain again. But at the end of the day, after one more super easy run, I knew: if I don’t try another one of those blues I’m going to kick myself.
So Blue Take Two became the last run of the day. My last chance to conquer my fears of wiping out, of losing control, of another trip to the hospital.
And I couldn’t be happier that I did it.
Was I still nervous? Of course. But it was nothing compared to the fear I felt the first time. And as I flew down the last stretch, I was so incredibly proud of myself and so glad that I tried that one last time.
Maybe next time I’ll be ready for those black diamonds. Hey, it could happen.