How Skiing Reconnected Me with My Childhood Joy and Ignited a Lifelong Passion
The mountains are more than a place for me, they are part of my family. As young children we would pack up the station wagon, full of gear, my brothers in the 2nd row, and me likely in the back where the seats popped up so I could see the cars drive by as we headed up to Chinook Pass or to Idaho.
John Denver was often playing on the 8-track tape player as my parents in the front seat sang “Rocky Mountain High.” I close my eyes I can see it, feel the bumps of the road with the landscape streaming by our car packed full of adventure.
As the seasons begin to change in the PNW this scene often replays in my mind, you will catch me humming as the weather starts to change, trees beginning to glow in the first hints of Fall.
Oh yes, Winter is Coming!
For so many years I ignored the call of the hills, things just got in the way. A career and a complicated life filled with more tragedy than triumph distracted me from its message. As a woman in the restaurant industry, I was in a constant battle to prove my worth. I have always used my body to excel, that is another story. The sad thing was that I had forgotten how much putting on two planks of wood and pointing them down a mountain could fuel my fire.
I smile thinking about it now, how different my life has become.
My mind is currently full of thoughts of planning yet another day in the mountains in search of a small patch of snow to earn my turns. I sense the excitement of the opportunity to be one with the mountain air.
A few days ago, I was speaking to a good friend about what the outdoors means to me. I became a bit emotional as I recognized that when I am skiing, when the tips of my skis are dangling on the edge of a run, I suddenly feel fully alive.
My heart is racing, I am a bit terrified as my breathing becomes deeper, my mind hyper focuses on the first turn, dropping into the rhythmic bliss of the wind on my skin.
Suddenly I am transformed into the little girl in the back of the wood paneled station wagon listening to my parents sing at the top of their lungs.
“Rocky Mountain High, Colorado” and my heart is on fire.
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