Betrayed

When the snow is good, and the slope isn't too steep, I can kinda keep up. 

I went skiing last week. I was at a theological conference where we study early in the morning, we study later in the evening, we pray together morning and night, and we have free time during the day. This conference happens near a ski area, so many of us spend our free time on the slopes. 

I had gone to this conference, and skied with some of the regular attendees, before I broke my back and injured my spinal cord six years ago. The vertebrae have healed. The spinal cord injury, though, is something I’ll be affected by for the rest of my life. My muscles don’t work the way they’re supposed to. 

All things considered, my spinal cord injury is relatively mild. I can walk without crutches or a cane. I can ride the bikes I was riding before the injury. I can ski on the same gear I was using when I was injured. But I don’t ski as well now as I used to be able to do. 

Beautiful snow conditions

When I ski on powder or on snow that isn’t entirely packed down, I have more control over my skis. I can turn where I want, and I can ski a little faster because that right ski tracks where I want it to go and I feel like I’m in control. In those conditions, I am in control. I can kinda keep up.

By contrast, when I ski on snow that’s packed and rutted by other skiers or that’s icy, I have no problem turning right. I feel secure, confident, and in control. But when I turn left in those same conditions, my right ski and boot and foot and leg and butt chatter around, and I feel like I’m not in control. I’m not in control. So I ski really slowly on those slopes. 

Before the injury, I was a decent skier. I wasn’t super fast, and I wasn’t great on the most challenging slopes. But I could mostly keep up, and I almost always felt like I could control my body; I felt like I could make my muscles do what I asked them to do. 

Now, by contrast, I feel betrayed by my body. And it’s not just on the ski slope. Church pews, icy sidewalks, flights of stairs, automobiles, and curbs are a few of the obstacles I encountered over the past week when I wasn’t able to make my muscles do what they were supposed to do. 

The thing is, my injury isn’t a humungous problem. I feel a little embarrassed writing this post, because I worry that some of my seven readers will think I’m complaining about something that isn’t noticeable, and so isn’t actually an issue. 

But I notice. My movement is hindered. My confidence is limited. I feel betrayed by my own body.