I am learning to ski, which as an adult, can be hard.  I realize the benefits of learning this young, when one does not have fear.  I remember when the kids were young and them doing things blindly, that I would never attempt.  I also think they are made of rubber at that age, so when they do fall, they just bounce right back up. I skied once ten years ago when dating a skier, who brought me up, showed me a couple of things, then brought me up on a lift.  Let’s just say it did not end well, as one can imagine.  This past Sunday, on the way home from Bend, we stopped at Mt. Hood Meadows where I took lesson number two.

Lesson number one was a boost to my ego.  Apparently, I had muscle memory from the first time I skied (if you would call it that) and I was promoted to Buttercup, which is the super beginner run.  After attempting that with much help, I realized that lesson number two was going to be focused around this area, as learning to turn and stop are quite important. Arriving at the lesson area, people were gathering according to the level they were at.  Green is the beginner level, and we were divied up into light green and dark green.  I of course went to the light green, wanting to work on getting as much basic instruction as possible, so not to be carried down the mountain with a broken something.   There were three of us, all about the same level, plus the instructor as we headed off in the direction of Buttercup, snow falling heavily around us.

Getting on and off of a ski lift is an adventure as is trying to get these cumbersome long and slender “boards” attached to you to get to work. Going straight is relatively easy, but going down a hill like that without an inability to stop, not so much.  Over the next hour or so we worked on stopping, turning, and edging. The instructor then said, we should go up vista and do that run, you guys are totally ready.  Not a one of knowing what we were getting into, we agreed. As we got on the lift, all four of us like ducks in a row, we went up and away.  And away. And away. This thing felt like it was taking us up to the top of the mountain. As we climbed, the snow mixed with sleet pelted us in the face and found whatever crevice was not covered. I felt my body tense as we rose up higher and higher, thinking the whole time, hmm, as far as we go up is as far as we have to make it down.  We arrived to a white out.

A whiteout by definition is:  Whiteout is a weather condition in which visibility and contrast are severely reduced by snow or sand. The horizon disappears completely and there are no reference points at all, leaving the individual with a distorted orientation.

Soooooo. At this point I am in almost a complete and utter panic attack wondering how on earth I was going to get off this mountain. Breaking my leg was beginning to look good.  The instructor told us to follow him, and off he went. Being a whiteout, I could barely see where he was going.  Also, being a beginner, I still sometimes look at my skis willing them to do what my brain is telling them to. I could not see out of my goggles, no matter how many times I wiped them off, could not see the ground below to see if I was going into a drift, nor could barely see the instructor ahead. I finally caught up to him, my heart trying to escape my chest.  I could not even articulate my panic at this point. The second short jaunt I was attempting to turn and fell. After what seemed like an hour, probably ten minutes, I was able to get my ski on.  It was snowing so hard, anytime it moved to the side, it got buried in the snow. I powered on. He then pointed at a path through the trees. I almost sat down and cried. I thought to myself, I can’t do this, I am going to die up here, I am going to get going to fast, hit a tree, and that will be that. The white out continued, and I laughed as I tried to navigate my way down this mountain. I laughed as the panic rose like a tidal wave during an ocean storm. Being in that whiteout alongside the panic stirring inside was like two friends meeting. Both limiting the view in front of me, making almost a tunnel vision. A storm stirring outside and in. The wind whipping around like my heart beating inside. The fury of Mother Nature around me in a dance much like the feeling of the old dance of panic and I.

I got down the mountain. I had to try and slow my breathing down, and give myself a pep talk of sorts. I am not always kind to myself with these, and with this panic inside, I had to pretty much say, hey, you have to get down this mountain, you have survived worse, pull yourself together and fucking do it. Well, anyone who has anxiety or panic attacks knows how much that helps. Not. So, continuing to work on breathing, I went down one section at a time, as slowly as one can on skis (man they want to go fast, especially when you don’t want them to). When we reached the top of Buttercup, I was alone with the instructor while the other two students made their way down. I asked him if he ran, to which he replied no.  He has been skiing for forty years. I told him, skis were like shoes to him, they were interchangeable, the muscles in his body knowing what to do without even thinking of it. I also told him that I ran decently, and my body was trained to a certain degree. Going up on that run was like me throwing him into a half marathon having only done running one or two times before. I felt like the parent who teaches their child to swim by throwing them into the pool, and I was the child. I was annoyed, scared, adrenalized, and exhausted. The only sorta silver lining was that Buttercup which was daunting before all this was “almost” easy.  I made my way to the lodge to fall into awaiting arms. That was lovely. I said what we did and he said, vista?  It was horrible up there!  To which I replied, you don’t say.

With anxiety and panic attacks I have had to learn how to get out of them. I can’t do it all the time, but most of the time I have learned to slow my breathing, look at solid real things in front of me, get my bearings until my body starts to slow down. Much like when I am running or biking and come up on a steep hill, instead of looking up as I go, I keep my head down, and do one step at a time and eventually I reach the top.  In this instance, it was the bottom. I still am loving skiing and look forward to learning more.  Just next time, my request is that it is on a nice clear day, so that I can actually see.