Another snow day, the kids wanted to go skiing, they needed a driver. Why not me? And as I pondered what it would be like to work in the lodge, writing on my laptop, I realized I had no deadlines.
In record time, after I announced my decision to ski, and not pound out another article on my computer, the boys had gathered my helmet, goggles and ski mask. I found my wool ski socks, jacket and pants, right where I left them after my accident, almost three years ago.
At this point, I mentally congratulated myself for having my house far more organized and pulled together than I realized. I already had a full day of “laps” stretched out in front of me — walking around the kitchen cleaning, wiping and clearing up behind everyone, between writing ng breaks. I like keeping the house in order at all times….
When did I get so rigid? Today, I put those domestic urges aside.
FYI, my surgeon did suggest a couple a years ago that I would not be fully healed until I did ski again. He urged me to try something small. This was small, and this was my day.
Once the bindings were tethered to my feet, an anxiety came over me that I had not expected. This was natural and all the more reason to conquer this demon. I would not be deterred, but I was not prepared for the terror of riding a ski lift.
So, I did what I had to do. I spent 3 hours on the bunny hill, trying to wipe out fear and anxiety. My son, and his friends came to visit me a couple of times, and were adorable and encouraging, telling me to look over and watch them doing some tricks.
And, please, to text them whenever I was ready to go on the ski lift.
After all of the hours I spent trying to build up my courage on the bunny hill, I was still terrified when I finally did end up on the ski lift. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop fear and anxiety from rising up within me. I marveled at the kids… so free. Eight runs later, getting on and off the lift, and coming down the mountain without falling, I still dread that awful lift.
But what an awesome day. The sun was shinning, the snow was beautiful, and I didn’t feel cold all day long. In fact, My gloves were wet on the inside from all the sweating I did. More from nerves, probably.
It was disheartening to come home and see the kitchen mess we left in our scurry to get out of the door, before the lift lines got too long, so the kids moaned. But, dishwashers are a godsend, aren’t they?
The only true way to conquer the winter blues is to actually get out of central heating for a bit, and give your head a break.
On the way home, I lamented privately, the great loss, for all of us in the car, that we would not be spending the night at Grandma’s house.
But, how proud should would be of me today for doing what I did.