standing at the precipice
It’s early Thursday morning as I sit down to my computer to write this note. My thighs are burning that nice kind of fatigue after a good, wholesome workout, and my mind is the slightest bit foggy while simultaneously vividly clear such as one experiences after an exhilarating physical activity. Yesterday, Cale and I, like two kids enjoying their final few days of summer holiday, took to the slopes to enjoy a day of powder skiing. Having grown up a flatlander and not having my feet snug into snow skis until I was 23 years old, there is nothing on skis that has ever come naturally to me. Until yesterday, on each of the few times I’ve downhill skied over the years, I insisted on starting on the bunny green slope to ease my body, yes, into it, but even more so, my mind into this feat ahead of me - zooming downhill with nothing between me and a descending sheet of ice but two fancily crafted wood/fiberglass/carbon composite boards.
But this winter I have gotten more comfortable on downhill skis. (Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?!) And, yesterday, I mustered up the courage to try my hand at a black diamond trail. Somehow, as will happen when you’re pokey like me, I was separated from Cale (who has been alpine skiing almost from the time he could walk) between unloading from the lift and approaching the top of the trail. When I arrived at the edge of the precipice (ie. the start of the run), I immediately felt a flush of heat through my whole body. Fear gripped my mind and tensed my muscles, my stomach twisted in a knot, and my heart raced. In the far off distance, I could see the Powderhorn resort, parking lots, and other nearby structures that were the size of legos. With no one around, not that they could get me down that hill anyways, I dug deep for what tools I had available to me, namely pizza pie and airplane wings, to help me navigate the shift in weight from side to side and control my speed. I called upon my yogic breathing, and I then began the slow, zigzagging descent. As I used to remind myself during marathon training in my 20s, the focus is on putting one foot in front of the next, not the entire 26.2 miles, and, in this case, it was breaking it down into one turn followed by the next, not shooting down the entire hill. I fell several times, likely due to being tripped up by my own hesitations and fear of going too fast, but, lo and behold, I bounced across those moguls and swerved between those big lift poles, and while I wish I could say it was with grace, I clumsily, but successfully, made my way to the bottom, beaming with pride, where I found Cale.
As we celebrate the arrival of Spring and experience this shift in the weather, longer days, greening surroundings, and a refreshed mentality, I feel a bit like I’m standing at the top of that hill. Sure, we’ve done this a few times now, but we’re going to learn a lot on the journey with many bumps along the way and hopefully the landings will be soft as they were yesterday. There will be lots of doubting ourselves, guessing as to the right path forward, bracing ourselves for the fall (and sometimes not even seeing it coming), sunny skies with the occasional storm, surprising successes (how DID we do that?!), agonizing defeats (ouch…that one hurt!), and a whole lot of laughing together. We rode the lift with a man who is the head of the theatre department at CMU. He was intrigued by our work, and, as we explained to him, no two crops are the same, no two seasons are the same, no two fields are the same, and just as soon as you think you have something figured out, you’re humbled and it all shifts again. We would expect nothing less this year and look forward to this metaphorical mountain that we’re about to inch our way across. Happy Spring, and here’s to another year of learning, growing, and experiencing laughter and joy even when you faceplant.
With laughter & hope,
Melissa & Cale
