I want to be the kind of person who loves skiing.
You know the type.
The ones who casually glide down the mountain like woodland creatures in matching ski suits. They laugh. They sip hot cocoa. They say things like, “Wasn’t that run amazing?”
Meanwhile, I am standing at the top of the slope whispering a prayer and wondering if it’s too late to become a professional lodge-sitter.
For context, I’m 5’10”, which is great for reaching things on high shelves, but not great when you fall on skis and suddenly resemble a baby giraffe trying to stand up on ice.
Getting up after falling is an Olympic sport no one talks about.
Why Am I Even Doing This?
The honest answer?
My husband loves skiing.
And when someone you love gets that childlike sparkle in their eyes about something, you want to love it too.
So every year I think,
“This is the year. This is the trip where I become a skiing girl.”
And every year I discover that while everyone else seems to be having the time of their lives, I am somewhere on the side of the mountain wondering:
- Why are skis so long?
- Why do boots weigh 47 pounds each?
- And why does gravity feel personally offended by me?
Everyone else looks joyful.
I look like I’m negotiating with the mountain.
The Anxiety No One Talks About
Here’s the thing: skiing looks glamorous in photos.
But what people don’t show you is the moment when you’re at the top of the run and your brain starts doing the math:
That slope looks steep.
What if I fall?
What if I fall and slide into Canada?
Fear creeps in quietly.
Your heart starts racing.
Your legs stiffen.
And suddenly you forget everything anyone has ever told you about pizza-ing your skis.
I remember standing there thinking:
“Why is this fun for everyone else… and I’m over here crying on the slopes?”
Yes. Actually crying.
Mascara and ski goggles are not friends.
Day 2: The Lesson
On Day 2, I decided to be brave and take a ski lesson.
Because clearly, the issue couldn’t possibly be my natural lack of coordination.
It had to be technique.
Our instructor was patient. Encouraging. Calm.
For two hours we practiced turning and stopping. I even started thinking:
Maybe… maybe I can do this.
And then the lesson ended.
The Narrow Path of Doom
Instead of riding the lift down like reasonable humans…
Our instructor pointed toward a narrow trail that snaked down the mountain through trees and said something like:
“Just follow this path back.”
Then he left.
Just like that.
And there we were.
A group of semi-confident beginners staring down what looked like a skiing version of a goat trail.
It was narrow.
It was winding.
And there were trees that looked way too close together.
At that moment I had a thought:
Maybe this was punishment for not signing up for the afternoon lesson.
The Prayer Ski
That trail became what I now call the prayer ski.
Not the graceful kind of skiing you see in movies.
More like:
“Lord please don’t let me crash into that tree.”
“Lord please help me turn.”
“Lord if I survive this I promise to appreciate flat ground forever.”
Slowly, cautiously, somehow… I made it down.
And when I reached the bottom I realized something important.
I had done something that scared me.
Faith on the Slopes
Sometimes faith doesn’t look like confidence.
Sometimes faith looks like:
- Shaky legs
- Deep breaths
- Whispered prayers
- And doing the hard thing anyway
The Bible reminds us:
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” — 2 Timothy 1:7
Fear shows up in many forms.
Sometimes it’s big life decisions.
Sometimes it’s stepping into something unfamiliar.
And sometimes it’s standing at the top of a snowy mountain wondering why on earth you agreed to this.
But courage isn’t the absence of fear.
It’s trusting God enough to take the next step… even when you’re sliding down a mountain doing it.
Will I Ever Love Skiing?
Honestly? I’m still not sure.
I want to love it.
I love that my husband loves it.
I love the mountains.
I love the quiet beauty of fresh snow.
But I also love solid ground and activities where falling doesn’t require a five-minute recovery plan.
Still, something about that mountain stuck with me.
Because even though I cried…
Even though I was scared…
I didn’t quit.
And sometimes that’s the win.
A Little Sursees Reminder
Life is full of things that feel like that narrow ski trail.
Unexpected.
Scary.
A little overwhelming.
But God meets us there.
Not when we have it all figured out.
But when we take the step anyway.
Even if it’s slow.
Even if it’s messy.
Even if we’re whispering prayers the whole way down.
And if all else fails…
There’s always hot chocolate waiting at the bottom.
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