Skiing used to be a staple of my winters. Every year, like clockwork, I’d bundle up in way too many layers, rent a pair of skis and pretend I enjoyed speeding down a mountain while slowly losing feeling in my fingers and toes. But as life got busier, skiing faded into the background, and for a while, I didn’t really miss it.
Then, this year, I decided to give the sport another shot. It had been a while, and I figured maybe enough time had passed for me to forget why I stopped in the first place. So, during February break, I went on a trip with family friends to Heavenly Ski Resort, hoping to recapture whatever excitement I used to have for it. Spoiler alert: I hated it.
For starters, the cold was unbearable. I don’t know why I thought I could handle it, but within minutes of stepping onto the mountain, I was questioning everything. My fingers went numb despite the thermal gloves, my feet felt like they were encased in blocks of ice and the wind sliced through my layers like I was wearing nothing at all. I spent more time shivering than actually skiing.
Then came the real problem: the skiing itself. Somehow, despite knowing my own limits, I ended up on a run way beyond my skill level. As soon as I looked down, my stomach dropped. The slope was steep — too steep. But I had no choice. After all, I had to get down somehow.
I took a deep breath and tried to ski down with some level of dignity. That plan failed almost immediately. My legs wobbled; my skis skidded unpredictably; and every turn felt like a battle for survival. Meanwhile, tiny ski-school kids zoomed past me like they had been training for the Olympics since birth. I was just trying to stay upright.
By some miracle, after suffering multiple mental breakdowns, I finally made it to the bottom. But the damage was done — my knees were screaming in pain, my face was frozen and my hatred for skiing had reached new heights. I had rented skis for the whole season, but after that trip, I knew I wasn’t touching them again.
Some people chase the thrill of outdoor adventure. I chase the thrill of being warm and free from pain. Safe to say, skiing and I are officially done for good.
