I Don’t Like Skiing Anymore

After my victorious words “I’m a skier now” I was planning to tell you a lot more exhilarating skiing stories. Instead, I have to share my failures. I don’t know if I will ever ski again…

Like most of Europe, Macedonia was caught in the grip of winter. First there was not enough snow, then there was too much. Closed roads and bad weather prevented us from going skiing ‘in our own country.’

At first I didn’t mind it that much, since I was still recovering from my bruises. Though after being at home for three weekends in a row, locked up in the city, I became quite excited to hit the slopes again.

***

When we arrive at Mavrovo at 08:30 am, everything looks great. There are almost no people, the slopes are nicely groomed, the sun is shining and the sights are beautiful. I’m totally ready!

At the first slope, on the top of the mountain, I notice that my skis don’t do what I want them to do. That surely is the downside of renting.These skis are a lot shorter and lighter than the ones I used before, and they don’t feel right.

They don’t want to turn nicely. Every time I make a sharp turn, I just fall over. Somehow my ski tilts, the side digs into the snow and I topple over. I’m sure I’m not doing anything wrong! It is such a strange feeling…

This abnormality is no problem on this first shallow slope, where I don’t go so fast and basically don’t really have to turn. But on a steep slope, it will surely cause problems.

The last time I skied, I also didn’t feel in control all the time, but that had mostly to do with my own abilities. Sometimes I wasn’t able to immediately slow down, for instance. But this time, at least that’s how I feel – the skis are the problem.

So my skis don’t do what I want them to do, and I get quite nervous about that. I don’t dare make sharp turns anymore, because I know there is a great chance I will fall again. Everybody falls, you say? That’s true, and that’s a part of skiing. But imagine falling at every turn you make… that’s not normal. And not fun at all.

My friend asks me if I want to swap the skis. I do. But to do that, we need to get down first. I follow her and hope with all my heart that I’ll be fine.

I’m not.

At some point, the slope becomes a lot steeper. I go faster and faster and I’m not in control anymore. At all.

In a split-second, I decide that it’s better to let myself fall down than to keep flying down along the slope even faster. However, I have no idea how to fall. How do you fall safely when you’ve already gathered so much speed? Well… you don’t. You just crash.

Cleaning the last snow off my face, photo by K. Pidel

I kind of try to let myself fall down on my left side, but the speed and gravity make me tumble around, head first in the snow, with a nice roll (or maybe two) after that. Just like the tumbleweed I envisioned a month ago. “I wish I had a video of this” is the thought that goes through my head. It probably looked quite funny – and painful. I can assure you the last was true for sure.

After the first shock, I realize everything is in order. My skis, poles, hat, sunglasses, everything is still there. That snow in my face is not so pleasant and neither is the pain in my leg and knee, but I’m still in one piece and I can still go on.

I’m much more careful now, and manage to go slow. But the turning still causes problems, so I fall quite hard again. This time I lose both my skis. With the people in the lift looking down on me, I scoop all the snow out of my pants and try to click my skis back on. It takes a few minutes before I succeed. Only then do I look ahead of me and wonder why I put them back on anyway. The slope looks very steep and I’m not at all certain that I want to go on.

Well, I know I don’t want to, but of course I have to.

I form a nice upside down V with my skis and arrive at the bottom safely after falling just one more time.

Once down, I start shaking from the effort. Only now I feel my knee has really twisted further than it should have. It sure hurts. I take a long break, eat a sandwich, and go up again.

Back on the easy slope at the top, I practice my turning once more. My skis still react weirdly. But nothing seems to be wrong with them. So even though I fall a few times, I decide to do another slope anyway. Unfortunately, this slope is a little steeper than my bruised confidence can master. I crash again and my perseverance is broken. I want no more. I’m done. I never want to ski again.

So much for being a skier.

This is not being afraid, this is being terrified.

The rest of the afternoon I sit on a terrace, drinking cups of tea.

The following day, I don’t even notice the purple bruises on my upper leg or the big bump on my shin. The only thing I can feel are all the muscles in my stomach, arms and neck. Moving is a painful ordeal.

I really don’t like skiing anymore.

And still, I haven’t forgotten how I felt three weeks earlier. So proud, cool, healthy and amazing. Maybe, just maybe, if I can use the skis I used before, on an empty slope during the week, I might try skiing again. But then again, I might not. I’m really not sure yet.