Skiing

Skiing

By Maribeth Dunlap

February 6, 2015

I went skiing again the other day. It was the first time since 2010 when I skied with my family. I skied alone this time. I was nervous and not sure I could do it. But I was determined. I dug out all my ancient gear and put together a ragged outfit. I looked like something that crawled out from the past; ragged and forlorn. But I went.

When I arrived at the lodge, I decided to try the new skies so opted to rent. I struggled with putting on my boots as though I had forgotten. My hands shook as they struggled with the buckles. The attendant there helped me. I gathered up my rental skis and poles and walked out to the lift area.

Old memories started to tap into my muscles like the gentle tapping on a door. I tapped the snow off my boots before slipping them into the bindings like I had done a thousand times before so very long ago. I briefly stood on my skis and felt the balance between them and struck off towards the lift, skating with ease, pushing from one ski to the other. I surprised myself with how comfortable I felt.

I glided up to the red line where you are supposed to position yourself for the lift pick up. As the lift came around it clipped me slightly behind the knees and I clumsily sat down.

Up and away the lift took me. I lowered the bar and rested my skis on the ski rests. Wow! I'm here. I'm doing this! I thought to myself. I looked below and observed the slopes. It was a cold blustery workday, so the slopes were almost deserted. I'm alone again. I wish I were back in my big mountains. But I'm here, now.

As I got closer to the top, I took my skis off the ski rest and lifted the bar above my head. As I arrived at the top, I lifted my ski tips and felt them glide along the surface of the snow as I lifted my body from the lift and skied down the tiny off ramp. I skated along the flat area as I slid my wrists through the pole loops. The wind wickedly whipped the snow at the top of the mountain. It swirled around me and playfully pulled at me. Oh how I've been missing this! Why did I give this up for so long?

At the highest point I stopped to take in the beauty of the mountain and the valley below. It looked like a tiny Alpine village, so quaint and beautiful. I pulled my neck scarf up over my chin and repositioned my goggles. I put wrists back through my pole loops and began my descent. I was a little stiff at first. My turns not so fluid. But I could still feel it in my muscles, the graceful style that I once had.

I had planned on first being conservative and skiing down one of the easy trails but I was feeling so good that I decided to drop down on one of the intermediate slopes. I left my skis take me as I glided and turned. With each turn, I began to loosen up. My turns became more fluid and my edges more clear. With each turn I skidded less and carved more. I like these new skis, I thought to myself. I need to update my equipment, yet another thought.

Before I knew it, I had skied my last turn and was at the lift again. I eagerly glided to the red line and began again. Up and away I went again. Up and away back to my big mountains as I remembered my Colorado Rockies. What glorious memories I have from that time.

I reached the summit again and down I went this time without hesitation. I pressed my shins into the fronts of my boots and I skied more aggressively playing with large radius turns and beginning to play with shorter radius turns. It felt so good. I love these skis! I felt so good. Down I quickly went and reached the lift once more. So quickly. I need a four mile run. LOL!

Back to the red line and this time I sat down with more grace as the lift came around. I think I became a bit of a curiosity to the lift attendant. We never spoke a word to each other but I think he knew I was some old relic that decided to dust itself off and present itself to the world once again. With just a little more spit shine and polish, I'll be good as new.

Up and away. Up and away again. Back to the summit. Back to those glorious feelings. There is a peaceful sense of oneness that overtakes me in these mountains. No words can really capture these feelings. Peaceful tranquility. Clarity. Freedom. Unity. Becoming whole. One with the natural elements. These are just phrases that I clumsily use to try to explain my feelings. They don't even come close to truly describing them.

Back at the summit, I choose one of the black slopes this time. I slip over the edge and find my rhythm. I play with my skis. I play with the surface of the slope. There is a small mogul field to the right of the slope. Can I do this? Am I ready for this? Should I? I do. I go for it. I see my line and I pick my way down conservatively from one bump to the next. I turn, I skid, I carve. Turn, skid, and carve. I repeat this pattern until I am at the bottom and back at the lift. Not too bad. A little rusty. But I'm happy!

Back at the red line and up, up and away I go. I'm feeling very pleased and happy with myself. I can ski! I remember! I exclaim and exult these thoughts inside myself! I love the simplicity of skiing. I love the silence of the mountains. I love feeling swallowed up in them. Like a mother's arms, they cradle me. I feel her breath on me. I feel her pulse and the rhythm of her heart. Glorious simplicity.

I feel my skies glide upon the snow again at the top off ramp. I gracefully ski down the tiny off ramp. I slide my wrists through the pole straps as I skate towards the edge, gracefully pushing from one ski to the other. Without hesitation I slip down over the edge. My body finds its rhythm. I hear my breath. I hear the whisper of my skies. The wind playfully teases me. I am back. I am back in my mountains. I am back in my soul. I am at peace. I found my joy and once again, my rhythm.