One of my bucket list items was to ski in Colorado. I am 45 and not a skier, though, so I don’t exactly know why it was on my bucket list. It just was, and I was nervous due to my age and lack of experience. I’ve skied once in my life when I was around 13 years old in Illinois. So you know it was really just a big hill, nothing like the ~12,000 ft peak I took 60% of my kids to on Sunday.
I did sign us up for lessons, though, and after our two-hour training session, I was ready to quit for the day. Even with three days to acclimate, I had fallen several times and I was out of energy. The kids were disappointed I wouldn’t join them on the practice slope after we stopped for a break for lunch. I thought… this doesn’t really check off my bucket list item, and I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I joined them on the practice slope.
I was relieved when I realized it wasn’t nearly as taxing as the lessons. I still fell many times, though. Once, I slammed so hard on my back, I thought, “I guess I don’t need a Chiropractor today.” I hoped no one was watching. I hoped my kids didn’t think I was pathetic. They didn’t fall once all day on the practice slope.
I finally made it down twice in a row without wiping out. I thought again, “This doesn’t really check skiing in Colorado off my bucket list. I’m getting there, but this doesn’t count.”
Knowing my middle daughter was open to being adventurous and that she had hinted at going down the bigger slope – the one the ski instructor said takes 15 minutes to get to the top on the lift and can take an hour to get back down. We talked about going and agreed that the instructor was likely exaggerating. After all, the ski lift is slow and if it takes 15 minutes to get to the top, you wouldn’t ski that slow, so we agreed that even with breaks coming down, maybe 30 minutes tops.
It was a nice relaxing ride up and a chance to rest. On the way up, we picked the easiest slope. It was pretty much a straight shot to the bottom. And if it were like the practice hill, we checked our calculations – we agreed again 30 minutes max.
As we exited the lift, we both immediately lost our balance and wiped out. And we weren’t even on the slope yet. I’m not sure if I lost my balance because her arms were flailing or if she lost hers because mine were.
The operator had to stop the lift. That was embarrassing. “Are you OK, big guy?” We got up and out of the way quickly. I gave myself grace and assumed the onlookers were thinking, “Poor guy. He’ll get it figured out.”
We started down the easiest slope, and I quickly learned it wasn’t really like the practice slope at all. After wiping out twice and seeing my daughter come check on me and wait for me, I told her she didn’t need to wait for me and could ski at her own pace. I didn’t want to hold her back.
The way down took me at least 1.5 hours. I didn’t time it. It might have been closer to 2.
I had so many epic wipeouts, but I kept trying.
I kept thinking, “Wiping out fortunately isn’t as bad as it looks. It’s the energy required to get up and go for it again knowing I’ll wipe out again.” Maybe it would have been different knowing I would be able to make it an appreciable distance before another wipeout.
I wasn’t making it far between wipeouts. I wiped out 10 times. At least. But I got up 11. At least.
I wasn’t really counting. I just kept taking my time to rest before getting back up. Psyching myself up thinking I’d finally get the hang of it this next go. I took my time and thought about the ways this journey was like my grief journey. I stopped to appreciate the view and took the attached picture.
About halfway down, I noticed a lady in a similar situation. Alternating cycles of wiping out and resting. I felt some sort of solidarity with her.
Not much longer after halfway, I finally gave up and decided I would just walk down the rest of the way. I had hiked a 14er after all, and although my boots weren’t nearly as comfortable as my hiking shoes, they seemed more supportive, so my joints weren’t sore at all. However, if I got into softer snow, my foot quickly sank so that I was up to my knees in snow. It took so much energy to extract myself and crawl to firmer ground.
After a couple more attempts on her part to ski, my partner in solidarity started walking too. Maybe I gave her the courage to decide it was ok to walk the rest of the way.
Her and I alternated passing one another and taking breaks. I made a couple of jokes here and there to keep our journey a little lighter. “Have you considered laying face down on your skis and riding to the bottom like you’re on a sled? I have.”
At one point, I commented, “Hey, we have a long way to go but look how far we’ve come” as I looked down and then up where we had been. She said she appreciated that. At one point, she said, “This is the easiest slope here, but it’s definitely not for beginners.” I guess we both had to find out for ourselves.
I had to take a couple of long breaks during which my travel companion made it to the bottom while I had at quite a way left to go. I was happy for her, yet I also knew I couldn’t push it too hard, or I’d have ski patrol taking me down involuntarily.
Walking in those boots and sinking in the snow a little with every step was taxing enough and just holding the skis was taxing my hands, arms, and shoulders. So when a lady stopped and asked if she could take my skis to the bottom for me, I accepted her help without hesitation. I asked her name: “Diane”. At least I think that’s what she said. I was so exhausted I don’t remember. I wanted to express my undying love for her but realized that probably wasn’t as funny as I thought it would be. Plus she was wearing a wedding ring, and her husband also wouldn’t think that was funny. I didn’t see him around, though. Yet I refrained.
“Diane” skied down the slope with the skis on her shoulder like it was nothing. Just casually meandering down the slope. She probably made it in 30 seconds compared to the 15 to 20 minutes I still had to finish.
After I reached the bottom, I walked directly to the equipment rental room to shed the ski equipment as soon as I possibly could. As I entered, I ran into my “hiking” companion and her family. Her mom thanked me profusely, so although I wasn’t sure I had had an impact, it was validation that I had. Even though I was struggling (and actually finished AFTER her), I was still able to provide some sort of support along the way. I told her mom we might have motivated each other but she still won.
As I reflect over the experience and try to capture the thoughts I had about how it reminded me of my grief journey, I remember thinking the following:
- Falling down is a lot easier than mustering the energy to keep getting up.
- I was aware of what I needed along the way – rest and to change my approach, and I acted on that awareness
- I accepted help without hesitation
- I felt mostly alone in my journey – except for this other person that was in a similar predicament and the lady that I have undying love for…
- I had to let go of my image of what skiing would be like and get into the reality of the situation
- Skip the chiropractor and go skiing
The only difference might be that I knew exactly where I was going – the bottom of the hill to meet my kids. Were they wondering if I was OK? In grief, though, I didn’t know which way was up. Yet I still knew I needed to continue to meet my kids. Daily. That kept me going.
Maybe most importantly for me, though, was a new insight I hadn’t considered before: struggling people can help struggling people. We can help and encourage one another no matter where we are on the path.
But… this still didn’t count as skiing in Colorado as far as I’m concerned. I suppose I’ll need to try it again. And as my kids suggested before our trip, it would probably be wise to practice at our local ski area before going back.
