Letters from Lisa

It may be spring in some parts of the Northern Hemisphere, but in the last three days staying at Mount Hood, I’ve seen almost a foot of snow fall. It’s continuing to float down as I sit here by the window, pondering another morning of struggling through downhill runs (and even more so, sitting exposed to the elements on the lift afterwards) with the wind whipping snow and hail in my face.

The most difficult part of the day, though, was not the inclement weather - it was the several inches of freshly fallen snow - powder - on the trail. Though I can take almost any intermediate trail under typical conditions, I only ski a few times a year and I only started skiing a few years ago. This was my first time skiing on powder, so in some ways I felt like a complete beginner all over again. Almost as soon as I got started, my ski got stuck under the inches of snow and I tumbled to the ground. I then spent the next few minutes pushing myself painstakingly back up and then sliding around in frustration as I attempted to get my skis back on.

Once I was up and ready to go, I stood looking down the expanse of the trail and wondered whether I could make it down. I didn’t want to fall again. Of course, this made it even more likely that I would fall again, because with the anxiety taking the forefront, I couldn’t ski naturally using the techniques that I knew. I was extremely cautious, nervous, jerky in my movements. I got down to the bottom, finally, and wanted to head straight in for the hot chocolate and forget about the whole rest of the day. Why push it? Why risk injury, frustration, and embarrassment?

This was how I felt, too, when I first learned to ski. I could barely get the skis on without slipping, and I was terrified of crashing into a tree or tumbling down somewhere and being unable to get up. My sense of direction not being the greatest, I also worried about wandering onto a trail that was too difficult - and of course, as a beginner, most trails ARE too difficult. (I still struggle with finding my way when I’m at a new mountain, but now that I can take a wider variety of trails, this anxiety has lessened at least.)

The first few times I went skiing, I approached the activity with a sense of dread and left afterwards feeling relieved and proud for getting through it. I’d go on the green trails and feel satisfied with that, unwilling to press my luck on anything that required greater technique. Then we visited Snowbird for a ski vacation as a family, and the instructor informed me that I was on the “hardest green trail in the United States”. Once I got through that, I realized that I could take a wider variety of trails and not worry so much about getting lost. That was nice.

Each time we went, I would think to myself, “I’m glad I got through this… now I never have to do it again.” It took quite a while, and many successful runs, before I ever thought that I might want to ski for fun. Even now, I’ll choose to go when the opportunity presents itself - it’s not something I seek out on my own. I’m happy enough when I’m doing it, and happier when I’ve gotten through another successful day. Maybe someday I’ll book a ski vacation purposefully and look out the window and think, “Today looks like a great day to ski… I can’t wait to get out there.” But I doubt it.

A lot of things come naturally to me, but it’s a very useful experience to deal with learning something that doesn’t. It really helps to understand when trying to work with someone who’s struggling, to know how it feels to be stuck in the struggle. You don’t want to try because of what might happen. Maybe it isn’t exactly like skiing, where you can actually physically hurt yourself, but there are other ways to get hurt. You know you’re not a natural, and you know there are people around watching and judging you even as they’re standing by to help you when (not if) you need it. Even worse, the anxiety itself is clouding your brain and making you forget what you already know. If you happen to have a successful run, it can feel like luck - like you’ve tempted fate and you’ll get the worst of it next time. That reinforces the relief you feel about being finished, and the desire to never ever go near it again.

The only way to get through it is to stack up a pile of successes. There isn’t a substitute. You won’t feel better about your ability until you’ve experienced it again and again.

So I’m going back out on the powder today. I’ll probably fall. I’ll probably get frustrated, and I’ll definitely feel relieved when it’s over. But it’s the only way to learn how.

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