When I was 18, I had a massive fall and scare on a ski hill.

It was part physically traumatizing, part emotionally humiliating.

Since then, I've been too scared to ski that run.

Well... this past weekend - after 32 years of avoiding it - I finally conquered my fear.

So let me back up and tell you what happened.

Picture it.

Lake Louise Ski Hill, 1993.

Outdoor clothing was dominated by slippery K-Way pants and jackets. Ski helmets weren't part of ski culture yet. And my dad rarely got our skis and bindings tuned up. All details that will be relevant later in the story.

Back then Lake Louise had some pretty basic ski lifts to ferry skiers up the steepest terrain.

One such lift, was the Summit Platter.

Similar to a T-bar, the platter lift is a small disc you fit between your legs and place behind your butt to drag you up the hill. The disc pulls down from a retractable cord - gravity and your body weight pull you one direction, while the cord and disc haul you uphill.

As you go up, you hope your skis or board doesn't catch an edge, causing you to topple over mid-lift. If the lift stops for any reason, you hang on for dear life, and when it jolts back into motion, you pray the ski gods will keep you on track.

At the best of times, platters and T-bars are always a little scary.

But on the Summit Platter lift at Lake Louise, it was downright terrifying.

At 2591m/8500ft elevation, the Summit is the highest accessible terrain at Lake Louise. The Platter carried you up 352 meters over steep terrain above tree line, where the wind constantly howls.

Along the steepest section of the lift, they installed safety measures in case someone falls off.

On one side of the lift, was a large rope anchored into the ground, with big knots every meter or so you could grab onto if you fell off. On the other side of the lift were small wooden boards, placed perpendicular to the slope - if you slipped on that side, you'd be "lucky" to hit a board and stop your fall.

So there I was heading up the Summit Platter, but when I got to the Zone of Fear I could feel my ski edge catching.

My heart raced.

"Don't fall. Don't fall. Don't fall" I screamed in my mind.

I tried to adjust my skis back into the track, caught the edge and toppled over onto the rope side. In the kerfuffle, my binding released, and my left ski shot down the hill, flying passed the skiers and riders who were coming up.

I gripped the rope knot and started to sweat, in spite of the bitter wind whipping my face.

My sister, who was riding right behind me, called out that she'd get a ski patrol to help me.

According to her, when she reached the top of the lift, a ski patroller was fortunately standing around waiting for an emergency. When she told him I'd fallen off the platter and lost my ski at "the scary spot" he literally grabbed his poles, jumped into his ski bindings in one motion, and skied down to rescue me.

Or so he thought.

When he arrived, I was shaking with fear, my hand cramping from gripping the rope.

We sussed out the situation, and it looked like my best option was for him to take my right ski and a pole, and I would carefully side step my way down the steep part to reach my other ski.

So with a pole in my left hand and the trusty rope in my right, I took a deep breath...

... and my first step...

... when my boot immediately slipped out from under me, landing me flat on my back, with my head cracking against the hard-packed snow.

Next thing I knew I was careening downhill SO FAST.

Even though I was trying to grip the rope knots, they were no match for the combination of gravity and my slippery K-Way pants. The rope flowed like water through my mittened hand.

As I barreled downhill, the skiers going up yelled encouraging words at me:

"You're doing okaaaaaaay"

"Help is on the waaaaaayy"

"Hold on don't worryyyyyyy"

They didn't sound convinced.

After what felt like 2 minutes, but was more likely 30 seconds of freefalling down a mountain, I finally came to a stop.

I laid there for a moment to assess if I was alive (I was) and if I'd soiled myself (I hadn't).

The patroller skied up next to me, his face white as a ghost. "Are... are you okay?" he shakily asked.

"I think so," I replied, choking back tears.

At that point, the hill was less steep and I could bum scoot or side step my way down to flatter terrain.

Still shaking, I put on both skis and carefully made my way down to the main lodge, green runs all the way. I took my skis off, headed into the lounge, and ordered a double Caesar.

I didn't ski for the rest of the day.

And I have never attempted to go up that run again.

In 2020, Lake Louise replaced the Platter lift with a proper chair lift, but I still could not bring myself to go up to the Summit.

But this past weekend, on a ski trip with my husband, one of my kids, my sister and my niece, that changed.

It was a rare ski day with fresh powder, sunshine and blue sky - which meant full visibility at the Summit.

I worked up the courage to get on the chair lift, go up to the Summit, and ski down the steepest, most advanced terrain through knee-deep powder.

I ultimately did 5 laps up and down the Summit chair.

At 50 years old, I finally conquered my fear.

I'm glad I did, because the views were fucking spectacular.

And even though I wasn't skiing the double blacks with the rest of the family, I still felt like a badass.

Reader, there is really no point to this email, other than to entertain you!

And maybe remind you that even in midlife, we can still do scary things.

I'd put off something for soooo long due to a fear that was no longer relevant.

Is there something in life or business you're afraid of doing?

What would it mean to get over yourself and just do damn the thing?

If I can do it, I bet you can, too.

Kim

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