Scream-at-the-Mountain-Day (SATMD) is an annual ski tradition. It involves searching for ski gear recklessly abandoned in cupboards, squeezing yowling feet into boots and careening down the mountain in wild abandon while simultaneously having weird body pains scream and grunt displeasure at the insanity.
This year was special. SATMD was my first post brain surgery (DBS implantation) AND cervical dystonia (CD) attempt on skis. OMG a dumpster fire analogy was not an exaggeration. Before my health flipped inside out, I was an expert skier – think off-piste, moguls, dodging rocks, trees, shrubbery and unexpected jumps. But now, I ragingly discovered at SATMD, my right turns were crippled by dystonia and my brain suffered while reading the terrain at speed.
In a few, short, intermediate runs, I was reduced to a dry heaving, whimpering mass of sweaty snow gear. My ski bunny beast of a daughter duckling skied me down and then I flopped on a bench and just ugly cried.
The thoughts whirled through my head until I was left with only a few:
- Skiing is so precious to me because of the time I spend adventuring with my daughter. It’s our time to play, take risks and breakout of norms.
- I am unwilling to let that joy go. It was worthy of blood, sweat and tears.
- I found my lowest point. For better or worse, I now knew where I needed to build back and recover.
I broke out of the ugly cry for two reasons:
- My daughter gave me the best hug and said – you skied with me when I was learning, you slowed down, I got you.
- There was a very dapper older gentleman of a hound in a gorgeous olive green turtleneck down vest walking by. Who can have a pity party while trying to puppy flirt?!
So having spent the bulk of my career in change management, I made the decision to change manage myself.
Radical self honesty is a bit brutal but necessary. I set my ego aside and named my weaknesses. I cannot solve a problem I can’t identify clearly.
I leveraged my experts in problem solving each of my weaknesses. Experts in and beyond CD, including those who make me laugh on the hard days. We broke it down to bite sized tangible pieces to work on, and a whole systems view of me, my brain, my body and the mountain.
I silenced people who tried to tell me not to push for change, including the sabotaging voices in my own head. It’s easier to make excuses for why I shouldn’t change, why I should let myself stop skiing. I don’t do easy.
I embraced the vulnerability of learning to move my body again. My days are a blur with left trunk and head rotations and it’s working.
On our second ski day this season, I enacted my plan. No tears, no dumpster fires.
I’m slowing it down to go faster.
I don’t know if I will ever ski the crazy terrain I used to. But my core reason – my why – is secured.