“Help! Help! No help, I’m sliding!”“You’re on skis, Ashley. That’s point.”
The poor girl at top of line headed to bunny slope lift was scared to death paralyzed with fear to point that any tiny move seemed destined to pitch her down mountain out of control. Her friend seemed not to understand direness of her situation. To her skiing was easy. She didn’t understand, but I did.
Always longer on doubt and fear than on calm and cool in sports arena, I understood. The movement seems unfamiliar, unexpected, and dangerous. What seemed like such a fun idea only moments before now seems like dumbest thing anyone’s ever talked you into.
Okay, so even now there are hundreds of people swooshing down these slopes. They obviously know what they are doing. You obviously don’t and so fear takes over. No not just fear but overwhelming panic that grips your gut and wrenches out small terrified shrieks. This is nuts—craziness. Much better to turn back from this unknown now and go back to safety of what you know.
And yet, what Ashley couldn’t see at that moment, what she couldn’t yet feel is how it feels to fly. Swooping down mountain with only wind and white powder for friends. It’s exhilarating, awe-inspiring, life changing. But right there, on fringes looking in, it just feels like something you’ll never be able to do.