Bluebird skies, a bougie setup, and the Swiss Alps as my backdrop. How could I say no?
I hear a deep voice shout to me from a distance: “That’s it, now bend your knees and lean into the turn!” I slowly scoot down a snowy slope, my skis in an awkwardly slanted “fries” stance. “I can do this,” I whisper to myself softly as I straighten my arched back and squat forward, doing as I’m told. Just yesterday, I was ascending the bunny hill on a magic carpet alongside a brood of babies, and today, I’m on a proper ski run. I had leveled up, and I liked it.
When I was invited to join some fellow female journalists–all over forty like me, for a learn-to-ski trip to Switzerland, I was hesitant to accept the invitation. I hated being cold, I was worried about breaking my brittle body, and if I hadn’t been motivated to hit the slopes at home over the past forty-plus years, where I live only minutes from some of British Columbia’s best ski regions, why would a trip abroad entice me to try?
Challenging myself to take a risk and try something new, I packed up my newly purchased ski gear and headed for the hills, comforted by the fact that I’d be learning to ski alongside strangers in a foreign country that was home to the birthplace of winter sports. If skiing in the Swiss Alps didn’t do it for me, I knew there was no hope.
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Sidestepping the Slopes
I was raised by a single mother with a modest income in Vancouver, B.C., a city where skiing is a preferred pastime–for those who can afford it. As a young girl with a darker complexion and a head full of curls, I didn’t see people who looked like me in ads for snow sports, so skiing just wasn’t top of mind. When I became a mother myself, raising my three children in the very same city, I made it mandatory for my kids to learn to ski from an early age. I didn’t want them to miss out on school ski days or slope-side fun with their friends.
From the comfort of a heated hut, I watched on as my offspring took lessons with an instructor, and they tackled the slopes with ease. In only a few hours, they managed to progress from the “pizza” stance to parallel skiing, racing down the runs without hesitation. I tried to join them on the bunny hill once, but my kids quickly became frustrated with my inability to keep up (and upright), so I retreated back to my viewing room and eventually opted to stay home.
Skiing became a favorite pastime for my family, and as they fearlessly tackled the black runs alongside my husband each ski season, I stayed behind, self-conscious about my lack of skill and bogged down by the belief that I was too old to learn how to ski.
Swayed by the Allure of the Alps
When I told friends and family that I was heading to the Swiss Alps to learn to ski, they appeared shocked, first by the fact that I was “learning to ski” in my mid-forties and then by the fact that I was doing so in St. Moritz–the swankiest ski town in Switzerland and the birthplace of winter sports. Equipped with a newfound confidence and a stubborn drive to discredit the naysayers, I was determined to succeed.
As I suited up for my first day of skiing, I started to second-guess my decision. I was equally excited to learn a new skill that could bring me closer to my kids and terrified to fail or, worse, to fall and break all the bones in my body. My mind flooded with “what ifs” as I wearily walked to the meeting point in the lobby of the Kulm Hotel, our home base for our stay. There, I met up with Stefano, a seasoned ski instructor from Swiss Ski School St Moritz–the oldest and largest ski school in Switzerland. When Stefano proclaimed that he’d have me skiing in three days, I smiled uneasily, dizzied with doubt.
Our group was gathered into a transport vehicle and whisked off to the lift, where our instructors unloaded our gear and led the way. Once we arrived at the top of Celerina–a preferred starting point for first-time skiers, we were loaded into a horse and buggy and wrapped in a fur blanket. In minutes we were at the top of the hill, ready to begin.
Nimbly Navigating the Novice Hills
Wobbling as I stepped into my skis, I was immediately humbled by my surroundings. Tiny toddlers seemed to speed past me as I teetered to and fro, but a quick glance at my fellow beginners offered reassurance. We were a group of adults learning together–and I took comfort in knowing that I wasn’t alone on this alpine adventure.
Stefano’s patience was unwavering as I slowly sidestepped up small slopes and slid down with my skis in a V. He shouted words of encouragement when I hesitated and corrected my stance when I hunched too far forward or stood up stiffly. By the end of the first day, I had mastered the kiddie hill, and by day three, I had graduated to a blue run, a step up from the green, beginner-friendly runs.
With my stomach in my throat, I disembarked the chair lift and positioned myself at the top of the steep intermediate hill. I leaned forward, and down I went, slow but steady. With encouragement from Stefano, I adjusted my stance, and just as I paralleled my skis and picked up speed, a slight tilt back sent me tumbling downhill. I felt my helmeted head hit the ground hard and watched as my skis flew one way and my poles the other. I felt totally defeated.
But I had come so far; there was no quitting now, and hey, I hadn’t broken any bones! I got back up, and made my way down without any more spills, and when I arrived at the base, I was welcomed with high fives. The only thing more satisfying than my successful last day on the Swiss slopes was the alpine apres. Still geared up, our group headed to Langosteria for sips and snacks slope side, where we swapped stories on a sunny patio while taking in sweeping views of the snowy mountains that surrounded us. I affirmed that I would keep practicing and hopefully return one day as a seasoned skier.
Returning Home With a Hankering for More
I had defied my own doubts and limitations, faced my fears of failing, falling (and freezing), and successfully learned to ski in three days alongside strangers who quickly became friends. When I returned home, my newfound skill brought me closer to kids, who cheered me on as they watched a video of me skiing down a blue run on the slopes of the Swiss Alps. Now that a new ski season is approaching, I’m excited to hit the slopes with my family instead of hiding away at home. Through my personal journey of self-discovery, I learned that new adventures have no age limit and that connecting with loved ones through shared experiences can be the greatest reward of all–even if it takes a journey alone to develop those connections at home.