Skiing as Love
One good turn… Chamonix, many years ago. Photo: Adam Clark
When I was in middle school, I didn’t want to go skiing on the weekends with my family. I wanted to stay home, go to the mall (I’m dating myself here) and go to the school dances with my friends. But my parents told me, “Skiing is what we do as a family—we are going skiing.” So every weekend, with much protesting and whining on my part, we would load up into our 1954 GMC Bookmobile (converted to sleep 8) and drive up to the mountain, to camp for free in the parking lot and ski all weekend.
I’m so grateful they did that. On one hand, I look back and think what an absolute spoiled brat I was to whine about going skiing! And on the other hand, I look back and see that it wasn’t really my fault. I see how all of the messages I was receiving from society and from my peers was conscripting against my parents trying to take us to do fun, wholesome, adventurous, outdoor activities.
Instead, what I saw in magazines, movies, tv, and with the cool kids at my school (these were 8th graders, mind you—I will spare you my rant on middle school in general, you’re welcome) was that girls were supposed to look good and fit in.
My middle school self understood that trying to look good, having the right clothes, hair, makeup, friends, and attitude (cool, not too smart or nerdy, not standing out)—those things were all cool for girls. Not something like skiing. Skiing was cool for boys. Sports, music, being funny, being smart—those were all things that were encouraged for boys.
Things are changing, but now as the mom of two young girls, I want to help send better messages to them. That being smart, adventurous, talented, funny—all of these things are cool. Of course looks matter too—we are human after all. But hopefully we are moving towards a place where self-esteem for young girls (and boys) can come from a variety of places, not just how they look.
Skiing for me was pivotal in helping me gain this confidence, even if it took many years to fully set in. Skiing (and backpacking and other adventures) gave me the baseline knowledge that I was capable. I could tolerate cold, try hard and improve at something, and come back and get warm and have hot cocoa at the end of the day. It meant singing on the chairlift with my friends, not caring what others thought of us. And it meant time with my family, which was the last thing I wanted as a 14 year old craving her independence, but it was crucially important to knowing that no matter what mean thing a boy said about me in the lunchroom, deep down, I was loved.
Feeling the love with my family!
