“Out of Control”
A micro memoir by Jane Hershberger (9).
“I can’t do it Dad! I can’t,” I yelled from the top of the run. I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead and my palms getting clamier as I tightened my grip on my poles.
“Yes you can! Just take a deep breath and come down to me,” he shouted from the bottom of the hill. As I glanced around at the tall pine trees surrounding me, the snow glistening on the thin needles, and the bright blue sky above me, it was strange to think that I could feel so petrified. Gulping thickly, I felt as stiff as a plank of wood and the slope before me seemed steeper than anything I’d ever encountered. I was doomed. I wanted to finish the run so badly, but I just couldn’t. I was too afraid, and I wasn’t good enough. Suddenly, my skis began to slide out from under me.
“Dad!” I exclaimed frantically.
“Come on, you got it!” he yelled. I could feel salty tears forming and my throat growing dry as I sucked in a deep breath. The fear of losing control was overcoming me.
Having been only eight years old, Dad and I usually stuck to the blues, but that afternoon I could tell he was getting bored of repeating the same few runs with me. Not wanting to disappoint the biggest role model in my life, I reluctantly accepted his offer to give a black diamond a try. As the chairlift approached the top of the mountain, I began to feel a knot build in my stomach. What if the run was too steep? What if I lost control and fell? I couldn’t do this. But I didn’t want to disappoint my Dad, or worse, myself. The intrusive thoughts swarmed in my head as my Dad and I peered down at the steep slope before us.
“You can do this, I’ll ski down first, and you’ll just follow me,” he said confidently. I nodded my head with hesitation, and he took off down the mountain. I was left at the top of the run alone, afraid, and unsure of how the next few moments would go. Trying not to overthink it, I steadily began to tip my skis toward him and allow gravity to pull me downward. At first I was off to a good start, staying in control as I made slow, continuous turns down the hill. Then, all of the sudden an unexpected sheet of ice sent my skis in all different directions, causing me to gain uncontrollable speed.
“Slow down!” My dad exclaimed.
“I’m trying!” I yelled back, praying I would make it out of the ski resort alive. I could do this, I could make it down this run. I was a good skier. Making a sudden sharp turn as an attempt to brake, I began to regain control. I did it! I made it down the mountain! Triumph rushed through me as a smile spread across my face. Sure enough, the faith I had in myself, real or not, allowed me to successfully catch up with my Dad.
To this day, I remain grateful that I ended the day with all four limbs. Although, I still wonder what would have happened if I had believed in myself all along. The only thing holding me back was my fear and closed mindset.
“You did it! I knew you could,” my Dad said.
“Barely,” I mumbled, still catching my breath. Relief and pride were flooding over me like a tsunami, until my Dad asked,
“Do you want to do it again?”