Skiing a love-hate relationship

There was a time when I loved to ski. There was no hate except getting up at 6 am so my husband could be on the slopes for breakfast by 8. We would have a front row parking space. If we were in the second row we were running late. We would be on the first lift ride up with the kids in tow. We would ski till the lifts closed with a lunch break somewhere inbetween. I very much enjoyed being out there in the fresh air, zooming down the mountain side and trying to keep up with the rest of the family. That was our Sunday, almost every Sunday for many many winters.

One winter, I got hit by a snowboarder, tore ligaments in my shoulder and couldn't ski for awhile. The only thing that did was make me paranoid of snowboarders, went back to skiing and nothing else fazed me for many years to come.

But somehow, time passed and I got older. We no longer ski every Sunday. In fact, except to spend an hour at the gym in the morning we hang around the house all day Sunday. You might say we have become old boring people. We relax and do our own thing. But once a year we spend a week at Snowbird ski resort. That is where I am right now. Even that started out as a total blast. We have ski in and ski out capabilities. All we do all day is eat, sleep and ski everyday for a week. Heavenly right? But one day I realized I wasn't 30, 35, 40 or even 45 anymore. Energy became more difficult to come by. One day I was skiing happily down a slope I had skied down hundreds of time and I fell. I didn't just fall I tumbled it my head on the ground hard my ski came off half way up the mountain and I fractured my leg. Actually, Thank God I got off the hook very easily. It could have been much worse had I not been wearing a helmet. We had only started wearing those the year before. But fracturing my leg made me think a lot about life. I don't worry much about death because if it happens I am gone, I'm with God and all is well. What I have come to fear most is pain and suffering and all the things I can't do if I am hurting. So, the love started to dwindle a little and the hate started to appear. Now I am not at all saying I hate to ski. I still love everything I have always loved about it. I can't ski as long as I used. But now I fear falling. I fear skiing on icy terrain. I fear getting hurt. In comes the hate. Now the question is will I eventually give into the fear and hate and stop skiing altogether or will I come to terms with the fear. I am still trying to figure this out.

In the meantime, when I am out there I relay totally on God's protection.