A bit over a week ago, I was sat on top on the blue run at the Mottolino mountain in Livigno, Italy, and contemplating the very steep slope at the top of it. It was the last day of my ski trip and I really wanted to go down that slope like a pro. But the moment I looked down, a great panic made my heart shrink and get all the way up to the bottom of my throat. I was paralized with fear. Not a totally unjustified fear if I am to take into account the ski accident from 10 years ago which left me with a broken elbow and two surgeries, but still just fear. It wasn't like I couldn't move, like I didn't know how to plough and turn my way down, but it was all about the fact that I was afraid of just going for it!
Although - slowly and painfully - I did go down that slope twice a day or two before, this time it felt like I had run out of the little courage I had left. I closed my eyes, said a prayer, put on my skis and reluctantly reached for the edge. I slowly watched in terror as I was sliding down the slope, but when I realised that all my body was shaking and that I was simply terrified by the look of that slope, I had the revelation that I had to give up. I took off my skis and frustrated left the slope, with cold tears running down my cheeks.
I spent the next 20 minutes crying silently under my googles and hating everyone who casually and elegantly went down the slope, all the while gathering courage. I tried to visualise how I would do it, thinking of the technique I had to employ to ensure a safe descend and generally just trying to positively make myself do it. I was desperate to do it, I felt like such a failure of not being able to. I am not the one to step away from a challenge, I always push myself, I always like to achieve the things I want to and yet sometimes, a self preservation instinct becomes stronger and my body and mind refuse to do what I tell them.
I was getting cold and the more I was thinking about it, it became obvious, that the less likely I was going to do it. Defeated, I dragged myself to the gondola and went back the cowardly way, crying my heart out all the way back. Unable to admire the beauty of the scenery around me, all I could think about was why? Why was I so afraid when I have been through probably more risky situations before, yet I went in without blinking. Somehow, between bitter tears, I had a revelation: we are always afraid of the unknown. And in this case, I didn't know that I was safely going to reach the end of the slope because experience had taught me that going down a steep slope ends up in broken bones.
But probably what I didn't want to admit to myself was that I didn't really know how to ski. The truth is I never took skiing lessons and, as with many other things in life, I thought I'd get away with it. I learnt it all by myself and since I am a self-taught nature, I assumed that if I just do it enough times, one day I will excell. But in all honesty, sometimes you just need to go back to basics and get it right. After that it's just a matter of practice...
And with this I realised that I wasn't afraid of falling, I was afraid of admitting to myself that I didn't know how to prevent myself from falling...
Truth be told, in everyday life, I find myself on the top of a steep slope more often than I'd like to admit. The extension of my fear is more present than I ever thought it would be. I recently started seeing someone and I already feel I don't know how to 'ski' my way into it. I have broken so many 'bones' down that slope that the thought of arriving safely at the end of the love piste seems like an impossible dream. Whether I decide to slide down and break a 'bone' again or just wait frustratingly on top of the mountain gathering courage and wishing to do it, but not being able to, it's all a very difficult game. Maybe I should go back to basics and learn the love game all over again...
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