On a slippery slope (not)

Learning a new skill is hard. As an adult it is even harder. It stems largely from your disillusion of knowledge and your bad habits form considerable impediments right from the start. But if you are interested, willing, made enough tea and have a new mac book pro you might actually pull it off.

Learning skiing as an adult is on a different level of hard. Apart from the usual pointlessness of being an adult (older) you are further well aware of the consequences. You in fact have had previous experience where falls have resulted in injuries that had unusual long periods of recovery. There is no fear of height but a constant reminder of how it feels to fall from it.   

Perhaps it was just that fact of in attainability that made me want to try it. Or perhaps it was the fact that after three years of being in close proximity of the Alps, one couldn’t just afford look away. I did need a partner and ever since I had one I feel like trying out newer experiences has become far easier. And just like that, after three decades of growing up, after ten years of shoveling snow in Michigan, I couldn’t wait to put on some skis and start from scratch.

I tried really hard to not have any premonitions. I guaranteed myself that as long as I listened to the instructor I wouldn’t hurt myself. I also repeatedly told myself of how little I could achieve considering I haven’t had any previous experience in sports that involve balancing oneself of slippery surfaces (unless of course it involves four wheels). Considering that, day one went as expected. I immediately felt unsure on skis, very uncomfortable in the ski shoes and just out of sorts in doing mundane tasks like side stepping up snowy inclines. We took minutes before we stopped sliding. And we took hours before we learned to stop a slide in a controlled fashion. As day ones go, it didn’t hold much promise. But I finally learned how to transport ski’s like a professional and realized that with such baby steps, chances of injury were pretty much out of the door.

So on day two, I was freer. I was braver and readier. Our baby slope invited us lovingly. It was a sunny day. The skies were beautiful blue. The gorgeous snow covered Alps enveloped us all around. Powdery snow glistened like Jewelry. Other able bodied human beings of all sizes slid past us gracefully kicking snow dust and creating sounds of success. 2000m high in the Austrian Alps is an ambiance that can’t be described but only experienced after paying for expensive ski rentals and lift passes. 

Day two had us increase our distances. The inclination was a few degrees steeper. We occasional felt wind on our faces. The shoes bit into my shins. I was performing weird ungainly motions, albeit smoothly, to magically turn. I was snowplowing with some authority until I eventually got tangled in the protective fences. I was drinking in the sun. I was beginning to believe. At the end of the day two, we stepped up and took a pull lift up to an even bigger slope. We gingerly approached it. I had plenty fear but I held fast. I trusted the technique and my considerably adequate right leg muscles in holding disciplined left turns. Time had slowed down for me. The tiny toddlers that blazed past me didn’t upset me but rather pushed my belief even higher. I started observing how snow would layer under my sliding skis. The sound of the skis scraping the powdered snow was an indicator of how everything that is right with this world.

I couldn’t wait to start the third day of ski instruction. My shins were shattered. The ski shoes felt only comfortable when they slid into my skis. But all that disappeared as we began making our turns with improved consistency and confidence. I looked up to the black and red slopes not with despair but an eager yearning. It would take a lot more before I made it up there and down back up again. But I was beginning to believe that it wasn’t impossible. Expensive may be, but very doable. And that was the whole point of third day. We didn’t go higher of faster but we did everything better without having cardiac arrest. We weren’t exhausted. We were thrilled. I loved the fact that none of my ligaments were torn in the process. And I could finally understand why people love coming down slippery slopes with two narrow strips bolted on their feet.

It took then twelve hours for me to get the point. In hindsight that is quick considering it has taken me years before I learned about other matters. 

It’s tough being an adult. I don’t want to make going up a mountain only to ski down back again sound symbolic but as adults we need symbols and signs to see what is evident. Or often we just need someone else to point it out.