2013: In The Beginning There Was FEAR

FEAR is an odd thing. An insidious thing. A formidable thing.

Before the freeze

I don't mean just fear; the thing that makes us breathe a little harder, narrow our focus, consider our actions and options, and honestly assess risk. There's nothing wrong with that type of fear. It ups the adrenaline level and allows us to fully SEE what we're about to do with clarity and purpose. It's a natural reaction from our brain and our body when we are about to do something that gives us pause or puts us in possible harms' way. It can be a life saver.

Instead, I'm talking about FEAR. The fear that leaves you paralyzed and shaking; that takes your breath away; that makes your brain completely shut down; that leaves you standing on a hillside, drenched in sweat, unable to move at all.

My Fear didn't just happen all at once. It wormed its way into my life sneakily, a bit at a time, unnoticed and unrecognized. It started with phrases like "I'm too old for this crap!", "Ehhhhh, I'm just not feeling it today.", and the ever popular "I have nothing to prove to anyone!". I stopped racing and started backing away from stuff that wouldn't have phased me even a little in the past.

Now, as I look back, I see that pattern building, my brain shutting down just a tiny bit more with each passing day and each challenge I sidestepped. 

Now. But certainly not then. Not even an inkling.

Also before the freeze

And I get it. Really, I do. A major injury on skis left me with a broken pelvis - totally non-weight-bearing for over 11 weeks; then months of PT; on crutches for my first big family ski trip to Colorado; then the mental gymnastics of being completely freaked out on skis for the next few years (and honestly, I'm still freaked by other people skiing anywhere near me, 8 years later). So, yeah, okay.

Still, there it was one day. All of a sudden. 

FEAR.

Me; frozen at the top of a hill. Completely unable to point my skis down the hill. Muscles refusing to work to hike back up the hill - a hill I'd skied several times before, and actually really liked. A totally ungroomed hill covered by luscious powder. And there I stood. Shaking. Sweating. Not breathing. Staring at the snow beneath my skis. Mouth so dry I can't swallow. Sobbing.

There's Chet, standing at the bottom of the hill, trying to coax me down. And I can't.

I.

Just.

CAN'T.

Chet skiing that hill with ease

I still have absolutely no recollection of how long I stood there, completely panicked. I only vaguely remember finally getting my skis moving, wedging and stopping and struggling all the way down. I'm pretty sure I couldn't breathe again until after I was already seated on the chairlift on our way back up again.

I just remember that feeling of total helplessness. Of complete brain shut-down. Of utter terror.

I remember those feelings so well, I'm actually tearing up and have a huge lump in my throat as I type this.

That is FEAR. Those feelings, that strong, almost 4 years later.

Thus began my Journey Into Fearless.