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Learning to Ski (March 13, 2010)

I am learning to ski.  The mountain is my teacher and I am two weekends in to these breathtaking lessons of vulnerability and strength and balance and falling down. 

I have always been rather protective of myself over the years.  I have given my body exercise and rest and vitamins and acupuncture and fresh air and a vegetarian (organic when possible) diet and meditation and play and yoga and massage and singing and nice lotions and potions and all manner of means to let it know I am grateful for all it gives me. 

I want my body to last me as well as possible for as long as possible.  Careening down a steep snowy slope never struck me as a particularly wise strategy for maintaining bodily integrity.

I accepted the invitation into this world of swish and swoop with the intent of sampling it and saying I had tried it and then happily returning to my more sedate winter habit of cross country and snoeshoeing.  Nothing strained or sprained or broken.  No drama thank you.

But instead I have acquired the most shocking taste for the feeling of freedom as I lean into the mountain, crisp snow serenading me as I fly. 

Skiing is a beautiful metaphor for this journey of vulnerability that is human life.  Momentum and gravity are not themselves under my control.  I must bring all of myself to the present and enter into relationship with forces that can fill me with joy or send me sailing.  

I will fall.  I will get up.  And I fall again.  I practice falling.  I get snow up my back and in my nose.  I get bruises and I get giggles.  And I get a new feel for surrendering myself to the passionate beauty of being alive.

I stand at the top of my run.  My body is filled with the chemistry of excitement, with the dissonance of newness and uncertainty.  I breathe deeply and curls of steamy moisture halo around me as I exhale.  I connect to my body and commit to the moment.  I hear the instruction I have received and gently coach my arms and legs: bend, lean, cut in, plant the pole and look at it, then look down the mountain.  Crouch down then come up, lean in to it, make that first turn, then the next, then the next.  There is just this, just this, just this.  Rhythms of breath and heartbeat and muscle. 

I am flying and I am falling and I am alive.  So alive.  Thank you thank you thank you.

 

Photo Credit: D. Beder Photography

Dr. Sandra Parker, copyright 2009 - Dr. Sandra Parker. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://www.DrSandraParker.com

#1 jamm on 3.13.2010 at 2:14 PM

"There is just this, just this, just this. Rhythms of breath and heartbeat and muscle. I am flying and I am falling and I am alive. So alive."

I love that you have told this story from the point of view of your flesh and bones. You make my feet pine to be pinched in ski boots, my face wish to be half frozen by the winter wind, and my Spirit wish to feel that alive. Welcome to the Ya-Ya Sisterhood of Skiing Spirits! :o) Beautiful writing.

#2 Trish on 3.15.2010 at 9:29 AM

Your description of skiing as a metaphor for vulnerability makes so much sense and has helped me see the connection between something somewhat abstract "feeling vulnerable" and how it looks in a concrete way "sailing down the mountain" - it just struck me as so clear. I sit here and think of the situations in my own life that I, at times, would like to avoid due to anxiety and somehow seeing them as situations like skiing brings this instant decrease in the tension in my body and lowers my feelings of being overwhelmed. Perhaps it is the idea that some situations feel like they are mountains and mastering a mountain takes courageous and persistence (sitting on the couch seems to take somewhat less of this good stuff :)). So perhaps if I dig in my poles and position my skis AND accept that I will fall - sometimes I will see the humor in it and sometimes I will just see the bruises but hopefully at the end I will make it down the mountain. Thank you.

#3 Peanut Edith on 3.15.2010 at 9:36 AM

I can totally relate to this story but my ending is not so positive. I feel like I am on a high when I see some piece of old food that I want out on the street (I am starving because my mom is cheap with the food) and I dive for it!. I quickly grab it in my little jaws of steel and then avoid HER gaze so she doesn't see I have it. I scamp, I run all the while trying to chew and swallow it. It is beautiful until I hear this whining, annoying voice in the background "Peanut DROP IT! DROP IT NOW!" Will I ever get down my mountain? The odd time but not consistently I am afraid. I will continue to live with Ms. Cheapy Food giver...... Anyway, just wanted to offer another side to the feeling of vulnerable and the lack of control one has over certain situations that seem to play out the same over and over again (most of the time as the odd time there is a win!) A person can only move so fast and I am a fast chewer hahahahhaha!

#4 Karen on 3.16.2010 at 6:37 PM

After reading Peanut Edith's comments above, I found myself feeling so sorry for this little someone who never had enough to eat and had to eat old food off the street and thought "boy, I thought I had a sad childhood; and then I thought; "hmmmmmmm, this sounds like a description of what a special little buddy of mine named Duke does". I am sure he has felt exactly the same way, many times in fact, but he often chews faster than I can run and this brings him much joy.

Sometimes I need to take a step back and look at situations from a different perspective and this blog entry allowed me the chance to do just that.

Thank you for the chuckle!!!!

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