Riding Through the Rise and Fall
On the fear and feat of learning something new
I learned to ski four weeks before the snow melted. I’d always been intimidated by the act. It seemed so foreign to strap my feet to sticks and expect them to slide instead of step. I had a hard enough time trying to adjust to the sensation when lacing myself into ice skates — how could I expect to fling myself down snow-covered hills and still find myself upright at the bottom?
Yet, I was mesmerized by the thought of it. I would be transfixed at trailheads, watching everyone around me pull out elegantly long skis as I pulled on hiking boots. Their diligence in spreading wax over the fine surface of fiberglass, the effortless efficiency in clipping the toes of their shoes into the metal clasps. I was fascinated. I yearned for that feeling — but I was terrified at the thought of having to be taught.
I have a few physical hobbies, and all of them I’ve done for over half my life. They were learned when my brain and my bones felt elastic, easily molding to the new grooves and shapes of whatever sport I picked up. My body has been perfectly formed to these outlines after decades spent inside them. I balked at the idea of someone having to go through the motions of teaching me something new from the ground up.
