Tearing down a mountain on skis, unleashing my inner 8-year-old boy, there’s nothin’ finer! Last winter that’s just what I was doing. What I could do.

One year later I’m fatter, weaker, nursing a back that is begging me to once again build a strong solid core. First day skiing, I lasted 1 hour. Next day, quads screamed at me the entire time and I quit after 2 runs. I waited 2 days and the 3rd time out, I got into the groove. I could feel the fun of it again. I didn’t last long but I remembered why I loved it. Then Christmas vacation came along. My season pass doesn’t cover holidays so I was done skiing for 2 weeks.

Once I got back on the slopes, I skied for 1 hour and my legs were done. The critical chatter in my head was relentless. That voice is Bootsy, and she is clever and

Bootsy

Bootsy

mean. Bootsy threw in the fact that I had to drive for an hour to ski for an hour. She even did the math on what that cost me. But on the drive home, I began to loosen her grip as this other little voice whispered, “Start again.” Huh? “Start again.”

I opened up my journal this morning and the prompt from Pema Chodron said “Just where you are – that’s the place to start.” There’s the damn lesson. I suppose there was some forgiving of myself in there, too, for letting myself get so weak. So now, it’s time to get my yogini head on, pay attention to what this amazing machine/body of my mine can and cannot do. And start again. My inner 8-year-old is waiting.

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