When I was 18, I switched to snowboarding. Later that year I had ACL reconstructive surgery (where they also removed 40% of my meniscus), which I recovered from nicely. Over the next 12 years I snowboarded occasionally, but never often enough to actually get good. It didn't matter--I loved it. Would I ever go back to skiing? Meh. Maybe. Maybe not. I sort of decided that skiing was too dangerous for my knees. At least that's the excuse I clung to for years.
After Thanksgiving last week, I was looking forward to a free weekend with no plans, no challenges, and no steps outside my comfort zone. Then I got a text message early Friday afternoon saying, "Want to go to Tahoe this weekend?"
Sweet! I thought. I love Tahoe. That'll be fun. Two seconds later, I felt my gut seize up and a wave of anxiety wash over me. What the...?
Nevertheless, I said yes immediately and went about my day, but couldn't shake the anxiety that had settled in. What was I afraid of? Sure, I haven't snowboarded in two years, but it'll be fine. I'm not great at it, but I always get down ok. Everyone else will be much faster than me! No, that wasn't it. I don't care if they go off on their own and I take my time on the easier slopes and work on my not-so-elegant technique.
So why was I stressing out? I started coming up with excuses to get out of the snowy portion of the trip. My achilles! I shouldn't risk exacerbating my tendonitis! I'm broke; I shouldn't spend money on rentals and lift tickets!
Then it hit me: I'm scared to ski again. But... I don't have to ski. I can snowboard. Well, apparently not because something in my head was poking at me saying, "You have to ski."
As I've said before, I'm a huge proponent of facing and conquering one's fears. Do one thing a day that scares you and all that. Crap. This was one of those things.
So I headed to Sports Basement Friday afternoon and rented skis. And went to Tahoe. I buzzed with a mild undercurrent of nerves and anticipation until Saturday morning arrived. Bundled up in my ski gear I actually started to relax. As soon as I snapped into the bindings, I felt even more at ease. By the time I got off the lift it was almost like I was stopping by an old apartment that used to feel like home.
Down the slopes I went and it all came rushing back to me. It didn't even matter that it snowed all day and the visibility was low because the powder was so soft and welcoming. Turns out that getting back on skis after 12 years was just like everyone said it would be: like riding a bike.
Guess it's time to start looking for bigger, scarier fears to conquer.
