Facing My Fears on the Slopes

There has been snow since the dawn of the new year. Boyfriend is itching to put his board on the roof of his car and drive off towards the mountains. Any mountain will do. But I’m scared. I make up excuses: “I just learned to ski last year. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to. It will be too busy on a Sunday or a National Holiday. What if I crash into people?” I see myself rolling down through the snow like a tumbleweed in the Lucky Luke cartoons. Not a pretty prospect.

Before

What can I say, I was born in The Netherlands, a flat land. Our only mountain is actually just a hill. I never went on a winter holiday. My parents have never skied in their lives. Boyfriend, on the other hand, calls Macedonia his home. He has been skiing since he decided you don’t really need ski boots to get down a mountain. He has been a big fan of winter sports ever since.

We are living in Macedonia at the moment, and even though the country is just 25,713 km² large and has only about two million inhabitants, there are three main ski resorts (Kozuf, Mavrovo and Popova Shapka) and a bunch of villages with a ski lift throughout the country. Of course, there are many Macedonians who have never skied in their lives, but there are enough opportunities.

The day I leave town to visit my sister in Istanbul, Boyfriend hurries towards Kozuf with his brother. A week later, he pays Popova Shapka a visit with a friend. I’m not in a hurry. The winter is long. My time will come. It will actually come faster than predicted. On the 19th of January, we drive to Bulgaria with a bunch of people for a long weekend in the snow. Bansko is a big resort with almost 70 km of slopes. It’s where I learned to ski last year.

During

We arrive in the afternoon. I immediately take the main gondola, which rolls in about 30 minutes to the top. From there, I take the beginners route down through the forest. This is a seven km long, gently sloping track all the way down to the resort. I remember taking this route at the end of a very tiring day last year. The slope was icy then. I didn’t feel comfortable or in control at all. I made it down in one piece, but my legs were shaking from the effort and I was exhausted. Let’s see if I can do better this time.

Still a bit scared, all photos by Boyfriend

I click my boots into my skis. I take a tight grip on my poles. I slide a bit forward. I bend my knees, I bend my back, and with my legs in a charming X that forms an upside down V with my skis, I start to go down.

What do you know, I can still ski! I can still turn. I can still brake. I can still pretend like I’m not scared at all. I do not crash into people, my legs are not shaking and the image of tumbleweeds disappears from my mind. When I’m at the end of the route where the slope is so gentle that I can even bend low, rest my arms on my legs and stick my ski poles under my armpits like a real pro, my face transforms from a concentrated gaze into a broad smile. I did it!

I hobble to the gondola again – there is time for one more run.

The following day, after a not-so-well-rested night next to a nightclub (OONK-OONK-OONK until five in the morning), it’s time for the more difficult slopes. No way I’m going to do this alone. I might have nailed it yesterday, but I’m not taking any chances. Skiing is still scary. Besides, with my map reading abilities, I might find myself ending up on a black run, which is not a very good idea. Boyfriend will have to be my chaperone. Before hopping on any lift, I ask him: “This is a blue one, right?”

Starting to go down

At some point on one of the slopes, we arrive onto a truly steep section. To most people, this must be a normal though exciting bit. To me, it looks like an impossible frontier. Surely a steeper than 45 degree descent. Filled with other skiers. And who knows with how many icy patches? How do ‘they’ expect me to go down here? Flying? I will tell you, if this slope was empty, if I could be sure that there were no icy bits and if I could see a long, flat ending, I would probably (maybe) have no problem rushing off the piste in a straight line. But just thinking of having to turn while being pulled at by gravity makes my heart beat a bit faster.

After I fall (luckily not at all in the tumbleweed fashion), I start descending step by step like a little child who just learned to walk. I almost feel embarrassed but I’m just too afraid. It’s not until the last part that I actually dare skiing a little bit. Whew, it’s time for a break…

When we tackle the same slope again after lunch, I turn off that annoying part of my brain that wants to be in control. If other people can do it, so can I. “See you later ‘better safe than sorry’ brain!” Off I go. I go fast. I have trouble turning. I fall. I get up again. I face the steep slope and my fears again. I go down. I go fast. I turn. I fall. I get up again. And then I’m down. I did it again!

The first slopes

After

Everything hurts. I have bruises in weird places. I didn’t know I used so many muscles. I’m tired. I’m done. But I did it, I skied!

Two weeks later, I still have red, sensitive dents on my shins from the sturdy ski boots. I’m still not the biggest fan of skiing. But now I know I can do it. I know I can ski. Every time I stand at the top of a slope I will probably still wonder why I seem to be the only frightened person, but I will not hesitate to go down anymore. After all, I’m a skier now.