Life’s Rhythms
Life's Rhythms
By Maribeth Wells
December 2010
My family and I went skiing the other day. I used to be an avid snow skier and worked for a short period of time many years ago as a ski instructor in Vail, Colorado. Much like riding is for me in my life today, I lived to ski when I was younger. But over the years, time and life went by and I found that I hadn't skied in a very long time. I was feeling rusty, out of condition, and maybe a little old. My husband is a strong intermediate level skier and my daughter I would categorize as a strong beginner. She needed help and guidance and I was grateful for this as it gave me a chance while helping her, to regain my ski-legs. We first worked together on the beginner slope and then quickly headed for trail. We stayed together, the three of us, as we skied offering my daughter instruction and words of wisdom and support. It was a delightful day, full of laughter, as we worked together, encouraging and supporting each other, in our individual pursuits of the perfect turn.
It is amazing how quickly time passes by. We get so busy in the ordinary rhythms of our lives that we forget about enjoying the simple things that once gave us so much joy. As the day wore on, I regained my confidence in my old abilities and found myself tapping into the old techniques of my ski past. It was a wonderful feeling like getting back on and riding a bike where you never really forget. My body's muscle memory was kicking back in and it was simply wonderful to realize that I hadn't entirely lost my ability to ski - something that I had once held so near and dear to me.
As we headed back up the chair lift for another run, I had another opportunity to teach my daughter. As we rode up the mountain I took notice to an older gentleman quietly skiing down the slope. He wore the clothes from an older generation; modest and subdued. I pointed him out to my daughter. His turns were smooth and quiet and his movement flowed with fluidity and ease. His skis whispered as he glided under our chair and out of sight. It was a wonderful example of the quiet form and technique of a past generation and I was grateful for his example and happy to be able to share that with my daughter. As we arrived at the top, my daughter, with that wonderful image in her head, struck off back down the mountain ahead of me. She moved with light and graceful movement as she began to feel the rhythm in her turns. It was a proud moment for me and my husband to watch our daughter grow from one stage and begin to tap into the next stage of learning. The look of joy on her face is one I will never forget. She understood the lesson I taught her.
After a few more runs, my daughter and husband decided to go into the lodge for a break. Her feet were being rubbed a bit by her boots and decided to have them readjusted. I opted to stay out and do a few runs on my own. As I headed back up the lift, my thoughts returned to the days when I spent every day skiing the big mountains of the Colorado Rockies. I looked at the snow below me as it glistened in the sun like a billion tiny diamonds. As I approached the summit, I lifted the bar of the chair lift and slipped my wrists through the loops of my poles. Reaching the top, I lifted my body off the chair and slid down the tiny off ramp slope. I skated to the face, pushing from one ski to the other, until reaching the edge. Without pause or hesitation, I pushed my shins to the front of my boots and slipped quietly down onto the face of the mountain. Everything was still, everything was quiet, I was alone again in the big mountains. I felt my body sink and rise through the turns, weighting and unweighting my skis, shifting from one edge to the other, gliding with ease. My body flowed easily with fluid movements. The only sound was the soft whisper of my skies and my breathe. It was magical and glorious as I once again found my rhythm.
This article was written by Maribeth in December 2010 – All Rights Reserved - Used With Permission.
