Skip the fame, (don’t breathe or ski), cherish the mundane.
Grrumpy Cat Chronicles 1
I push myself only when cornered, I adhere to some basic rules of self-preservation. After all I’ve had a premonition that this will happen, but there was no one to blame, just me and my desire to prove that I can do it. I wanted this, and that was the problem… I was the problem. Me, myself, and maybe Irene.
Ok, I’ll admit it was a just a big hill by world standards not a real mountain. Still, this is Ontario and that’s what we had on hand. Standing at the bottom it looked potent enough. “Small but charming,” I thought. “You start with a little bunny and soon enough end up with black diamonds. You paid good money for it too, so there is no going back. This little cutie pie hill will either make you smile or end up in a pile.”
At the top no one else seemed to be concerned with the sheer beauty of the white abyss underneath. The moment they made it up they were on the way down, as if someone was chasing them or paying for each run.
As I kept taking in the surroundings a hint of concern throbbed under my third left rib and I could probably paint the countryside from memory at this point. I’ve been preaching non-risk-taking, at least the physical kind, for a while. Skiing in particular seemed rather dire, as I never managed to mount the T-bar lift when I was forced to gave it a first go on the “Fallen Knight” back home. If it’s fallen, let it be. No, everyone had to ride on it, day and night, and even though we were from the north and lived by the beach we had to go to the Tatra Mountains too, as if the frigid Baltic Sea couldn’t keep us cold enough.
The T-bar was for beginners. That’s how you weed out the weak and unfit. Dad told me “Look there is nothing to it, look how they do it,” he pointed towards the others hooking onto the T-bar, one by one without any hiccups, like some elite paratroopers before their jump. “You grab it, put it between your legs and you ride,” he said without much confidence in his voice at all. He was not a skier himself, nor was my mom, nor anyone I knew at that time. But I was the one, I got designated to change this forever, to undo the generational trauma of negligence and fear and open myself, as the first of my line, to the world of skiing and adventure, shake off the timidness…. and sore amongst the clouds. So off I went.
I never mounted that T-bar, it was elusive and there was only one try. I grabbed it and was struggling to put it somewhere between those fat snow pants, twisting and jostling with it until it finally yanked away and all I managed to do was to hold onto it. I was quickly brought down but refused to let go, I was dragged, desperately clinging to it, and giving it all I got. I tried to get up from the left, even managed to get one ski flat, but the other one did not respond to my commands in time. I shifted and wriggled, I struggled, I attempted and tried. At the end I gave in and let myself be dragged with the skis outstretched awkwardly like some frozen cow.
“Let go, let go” the operator kept shouting, and I had to admit defeat. My father shook his head as if to say, “good try, good try,” and I was just hoping he won’t say “you’ll surely do better next time.”
Everyone said I did great the following day but I didn’t feel it then, and then I didn’t feel the need to ever feel it again. I heard so many stories of messed up knees from our close circle that I didn’t need any additional statistical data to know better. I’ve had put in processes to ensure I would not be put to the test ever again.
But then one winter my wife said we are going to Mount Pleasant in Quebec. The entire family. It’s beautiful, there will be a gazillion of friends there and it will be great. So we bought all the gear, on the last day, in a single go. It looked spectacular, it was all matte but shiny, and had the new car smell, and so would the surroundings in a few days, just that the scent would be fresh pines and snow.
We got there after a full day’s worth of a drive, as to get anywhere from Toronto, you have to drive at least the whole day. But it was worth it. It was otherworldly, expansive, white, beautiful and grand. It definitely looked like a proper mountain, with numerous runs and proper lifts with full blown gondolas. There were no T-bars in sight.
A gentleman well in his seventies gave us the first lessons and I thought, well, if he can do it, I can too, so what that he skied all his life and I vowed to never try again.
I won’t bore you with how wonderful the first winter skiing has been because that’s for all the other happy-go-lucky, life-is-a-joy stories, and there are plenty of those around. I dwell in the negative space of life, I dwell on the annoying, the uncomfortable, the mundane struggles of life, I indulge in the anti-life.
Of course it was wonderful. It was liberating! I have finally conquered one of my childhood fears. The skis turned by themselves, you just had to lean a bit, it felt more like riding a Segway than a sport, and to go up the mountain you just had to sit down on a bench. Sure I missed mounting the bench on the very first run and they had to stop the lift and my entire family had a ball, but I was determined to not back down this time. I was dropped into the water and I swam. I felt like Alexander, I felt Great.
Don’t get fooled like me though. Don’t ever let sheer beauty and naive feelings of joy and happiness, guide you away from being constantly weary and on the lookout for ever-present misfortune. Remember the grim statistics, and do not forget that once you reach the summit, there is only one way, and it’s down.
I went down, oh I went down. I went down more than few times. I didn’t go easy on myself. I tried all the green trails. I mastered them all by giving them several spins. It was nice, gliding down and almost feeling the breeze, not needing goggles, keeping them on the helmet like the cool kids. Aha, to the left and to the the right, nice and easy, oh someone nearly decapitated me while flying by. Nothing to worry about here, just maintain the rhythm, to the left, to the left and then to the right.
I felt like a butterfly, but better, one that could live in the cold. For a second, I was close to mastering the universe and understand the meaning of life. It all made sense. Of course, people do it. Of course, that they do, it’s the best thing under the sun. It’s all so worth it, it’s sporty, outdoorsy, it’s so pretty, and if you don’t like pretty, it can be foggy or you can do it at night, which makes it look far less attractive, and even more dangerous and I can imagine how for some this might be the ultimate appeal and rush. It was fantastic.
A year has passed and I was ready. I was ready to progress and reach new all time highs. I’ve conquered the greens, I owned them all. There was no novice trail that I could not tame. It was time to go a shade harder.
So I went blue. I went on the blue trail without hesitation, without a hint of second thoughts, I was determined, committed and fully locked in. It’s like going into Georgian Bay or any Ontario lake in the middle of summer — you give it one look, size it up like a bull, you brace, tighten your muscles and you go face the frigid pain. You then immediately start swimming to not give your brain time to feel any discomfort, you have to out-swim the pain.
Skiing is the same — I thought. You just gotta plow through it. It’s all in your head — said the instructor. Green blue red, how bad can it get?
Off I went, I plunged, I swung once, I swung twice, just that I didn’t. My body swung. My skis did not. The skis did not clip out and the knees went ouch. Somewhere midway flight, I saw legs fly and thought, this will not last just one day.
They hauled me down the mountain, a hill, by world standards, like a sack of potatoes, and I wandered if they already had a large pile somewhere at the bottom.
“Are you claustrophobic?” asked the first aid rescuer. A fine young chap, focused and professional, with a hint of attrition.
“No?” I asked, not sure what to expect.
“Can you put your ski mask on?” he said right away.
Well there we go, it won’t be so bad at all, I’ll be watching the grey sky as we scoot down.
He helped me onto the sled wrapped in a yellow tarp. It wasn’t easy as I couldn’t lift my left leg without excruciating pain, but it clearly wasn’t his first rodeo and soon enough I was lying there like a fresh sprat ready to dry in the sun. I felt relieved. I was one step closer to reclaiming my previous self. The one that you know, could walk and do stuff. Such unimaginable freedom. Huh. You have to take it away, to have them appreciate it. Once again it all made sense.
One day I was bored, didn’t know what else to do with myself, I was growing agitated and wanted to rebel against the mundane. I felt like I was still young and capable, and most importantly that it’s my duty to fully experience life, to explore and push the envelope or at least use up all the space within it. I got humbled. I got put in my place, by no other but myself. Self-fulfilling prophecy you’ll say, sure, I always knew it will come. Like Paul Atreides in the Dune, I saw it, it was one of many divergent possibilities, but this one was the clearest. And it happened. It changed everything.
One day I was bored but whole. Next, my knee was shattered, ACL completely gone, meniscus shot to pieces, the list of injuries was six items long… and I couldn’t walk. I almost wished I couldn’t talk instead.
There are two ways to go about it, and let me be clear, you do not have to do anything to encounter perils and face life adversities. Na ah. You can sit pretty and do exactly nothing, though your butt will simply not let you do that too long either. You can actively seek challenges by living an active and fulfilling life or you can lay low and let the water flow around, though that won’t necessarily save you either.
Two years ago, the day after Christmas we went sledding with the kids. It was a gorgeous day, with fresh snow. I stepped on a sled, it slipped and I fell. Everyone laughed, it was so absurd. Even I had a ball until I realized my thumb got fractured and i could not do anything for days. You only notice how important your thumb is when it’s gone.
From my limited experience I urge you to not obey your adventurous outbursts of untamed desire and engage in outright risky activities like going outside, walking, running, sledding, skiing or even peeing if it’s against the wind. It can throw your carefully maintained peace into full turmoil, fast.
If you really have to, then go at it, no one can stop you, but don’t be afraid to cherish the mundane. Stay home, watch Netflix, cook dinner, wash dishes, stare at the window, but never look through it, lest you be tempted to go outside. You may see others skate or ski, you have to be stronger, you have to remember not everyone needs to. Alberto Tomba, he was a supernatural. You’re not, so stay home. If you watch carefully you’ll see plants grow, that dust is not dead, it’s just like stardust when lit by the sun. There is so much to explore. Choose anti-life and stay safe. Sacrifice adventure for solitude and boredom. <End sarcasm.>
For real though? Go crazy, enjoy life, do whatever your body still lets you, you never know when it’s gonna throw in a limit. Cheers.
