In a world that occasionally spins a tad too quickly, there exists a unique kind of peace. I find it high above the ground, on a ski lift, with my husband by my side. Here we are far removed from the madding life below. The stillness is punctuated only by the soft whir of the lift and the distant, muffled laughter of fellow skiers. These moments are etched into my soul, reminders of the utter joy that skiing brings. They become the élan vital of my defiance, perseverance, and thirst for adrenaline. Each ascent, with the crisp air nipping at my cheeks and the vast, snowy expanse stretching out beneath us, reminds me why I return to the slopes year after year – in search of the freedom and challenge they present.
Skiing isn’t just my favourite pastime; it’s a deliberate act of rebellion. It forms an integral part of my identity and is a testament to living life on the (ski 🙄) edge. It’s in the rush of the descent, the tranquillity of the mountains, and the dance of light and shadow on the snow that I embrace my chaos and discover my happiest moments. Every turn, jump, and moment of surrender is a celebration of life. The mountains, both fierce and serene, are where I find my balance and my joy.
Yet, let’s not sugarcoat it – life has its way of delivering punches (and occasionally kicking you while you’re face down in the mud). Most recently, it’s putting my stiff upper lip to the test with a rib injury. But I’m not one to shy away from a challenge. Each scrape and bruise is a badge of honour, a testament to resilience. They simply fuel my fire, spurring me on to strive harder, live more fully, and confront the odds with a defiant sneer.
So, here’s to the good times, the victories, and the exhilaration we snatch from the jaws of our challenges. And to the snow, the hills, the mountains. To the overcast days, the snowy days, and the much coveted bluebird days following a fresh dump.
Here’s to truly living and to the resilient spirit that refuses to be dampened, no matter what life flings our way!
