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I am lucky enough to live about 25 miles from Taos Ski Valley, a fabulous ski resort. And in my younger years, as in about 20 years ago, I knew how to snowboard.

You know how they say you never forget how to ride a bike?

Let me tell you, snowboarding is NOT like riding a bike.

At least not for me.

The 2018-2019 season was our first official winter as a family, since we had just moved from Miami, Florida to New Mexico.  My husband Joe, my two sons, and I loved heading up to the mountain. Every weekend.  All was good as we all kind of sucked equally.

Which was great for my self esteem, because now a days there are fewer and fewer things I can still do better than my kids. But that’s another topic all together.

As that season progressed, everyone seemed to get better, and well, I didn’t. So when this season (2019-2020) started I was committed to becoming a solid intermediate level rider. I had lost 20 pounds, was in better physical shape, I was ready to rock in my new red snow pants . 

But there was a tiny thing that I couldn’t get right: getting off the lift.

Every time I got off the lift, I fell.

And it became a thing.

I KNOW how to get off the damn lift, but I just couldn’t do it without splattering on the snow, and often times taking an innocent bystander down with me.

And at 47, those kinds of falls hurt. A lot.

So now it was not just a thing in my head (the thoughts of “I can’t do this”), it was also a thing in my body as I got injured getting off the lift chair. Once I hit my head so hard I had a headache for days, another time my leg got so stretched I pulled a muscle in my groin and I am still dealing with it.

It got so bad that I was staying back from the mountain. I hated riding with my husband and my boys because each ride together started with me splattering all over the snow by coming off the lift with zero control.

In other words. I was losing my love for snowboarding.

And my love of snowboarding was important to me. On the mountain, when I was able to ride smoothly, I had the same feeling I had when I was on my bike during my Ironman triathlon days. I would happily ride 100 miles, alone. I loved the sound of the tires on the road and it was my zen space.

Well, snowboarding offers the same feeling. There is a swoosh sound as you make turns, and seeing the majesty of the mountains ahead of you just does something to your soul.

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But you can’t get to the swoosh and the zen if you can’t get on the mountain in the first place. And to get on the mountain, you need to get on and off the freakin lift. And every time I did, I fell and it would hurt. And I blamed my family.

It went something like this:

I yell at them because:

The only way they were safe from my judgement and blame was if they were on the other side of the mountain with a 2,000 foot peak between us.

I found myself saying things like “you guys go ahead” or “I have too much work to do today, I might as well stay home but you guys should go ahead.”

And if I did go, I would map my rides so I knew how many lift rides I would need fall off, and I avoided huge swaths of mountain trails where the lifts seemed too steep.

I tolerated not living my best life, not doing something that brought me so much joy.

Both my kids and my husband are obsessed with snowboarding and skiing (and their search history on YouTube confirms this). They want to go up as often as possible and I was letting this lift issue separate me from them.

Until I saw an ad for the “Femme De Freestyle” event at Taos Ski Valley: a weekend long clinic for women, by women. 

At first I totally rejected the idea.

• “Taos has way more skiiers than snowboarders.”
• “Everyone will be better than I am.”
• “I don’t want to pay money, to have the same frustration and pressure of trying to keep up with a faster group as I do with my family (I get that for free thank you very much).”

But something else whispered in my ear: do it. The price was uber reasonable, and there was a category that said “intermediate snowboarders … greens to blues.” Which if you know nothing about snow sports, just know that it’s pretty basic and totally my comfort zone.

I signed up.

Thank GOODNESS I did.

Here’s what happened.

First they divided us into groups. And there were four of us who had EXACTLY the same fears which included getting off the lift. Who knew anyone else was scared of it?

The other wonderful part is that this was a women’s only event. I am surrounded by men. All the time. And God bless them and I love them, but they have no idea what to do when I cry in frustration after falling down getting off the lift … again.

I was telling my instructor about my lift issue, and I got teary eyed. She had the perfect reply: “aww, that is so sad. We’ve got to help you get over that so you can enjoy the mountain again.” Ahhh, the empathy of a woman was just what I needed.

To summarize the weekend of Femme de Freeride: the instructors were amazing, the women in my group were super supportive, and I learned how to get off the freaking lift. Let me repeat that:

I NOW CAN GET OFF THE LIFT WITHOUT SPLATTERING ALL OVER THE FLOOR OR KNOCKING ANY INNOCENT BYSTANDER DOWN.

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Do you know what that means?

That means that parts of the mountain I would avoid are now open to me.

Time I spend with Joe or my boys going up a lift is once again possible.

The ability to get that feeling I love so much is once again within my reach.

And all of that happened because I was willing to ask for help. 

I decided I was no longer going to tolerate cutting myself off from the enjoyment of snowboarding with my family.

I checked my ego at the door. I listened with intent. I asked all the questions I needed to ask. I got the support of women who genuinely wanted me to be able to overcome this huge block.  

As soon as the event was over, I met up with Joe and we rode the lift together

And do you know what happened?

We got off the lift together, and I didn’t fall.

TWICE!

I’m feeling like a freaking champion here.

So if YOU are tolerating something in your life because you are unwilling to ask for help, time to check your ego outside the door and do what you have to do, as scary as it might be, to make it happen.

There’s just too much life to live, too much fun to be had, and too much joy to be felt to live separated from it.