Wow! That looks like fun I thought as I gazed up at The Ridge at Loveland ski area on Sunday and saw three skiers floating down an area of untracked powder. If only we had time to get up there. Doug and I were planning on leaving the ski area early to avoid the nightmare traffic jams that always happen on ski weekends when everyone is trying to get back home to Colorado’s Front Range. Getting to the area where these people had been skiing involved signing a waiver down at the lift ticket office and then riding the new Loveland Ridge Cat. We figured it would take at least an hour to get our pass and then ride all the necessary lifts to get to the area where the snowcat picked skiers up. Not to mention that the snowcat stopped operating at 2:30 p.m. We would really have to rush to catch the last ride.
That seemed like a lot to do for one run, and I almost shrugged it off thinking it wasn’t worth the hassle. Anyway, we had passes to the ski area and there was always next time, right?
As I sat there in the snow looking up at the snowy ridge, I had this horrible nagging feeling that maybe there wouldn’t be a next time to do that run. I hate having depressing thoughts like that, and I really do try to stay positive as much as I can. However, sometimes the downer feelings sneak in and this was one of those times.
This Thursday, I am going in for an MRI of my left hip. I have been experiencing a rapid worsening of pain in the joint. What started out as a dull ache in the beginning of January has now changed to a sharp pain whenever I lift my leg in a certain position. The joint is starting to hurt when I walk and it feels alarmingly like the avascular necrosis (AVN) in my shoulder. Though I am definitely staying hopeful, I am also scared of what the MRI might reveal. If the results came back showing AVN, I am pretty sure snowboarding black diamond runs on The Ridge would be out of the question.
I suddenly had this incredible drive to get up there and to the run right away. There was no time to waste! Who cared about getting stuck in traffic. Doug and I raced down the mountain, got our passes for the Ridge Cat and made our way up the lifts to the loading zone for the vehicle.
This isn’t the first time since being diagnosed with AVN that I have had these sorts of thoughts. Last Friday I went to a two-hour Zumba dance party at my gym. Doing salsa moves, jumping around and swinging my hips was so much fun, and I smiled the entire time. Still, the dreaded thought once again entered my head: Would this be the last time I would get to dance so hard? Just in case, I closed my eyes and focused on the lovely sensation of my body moving to the music. Don’t ever forget how amazing this is I thought.
A couple of weeks ago I went to the rock climbing gym. My orthopedic surgeon had said it was okay to still climb as long as I followed some restrictions, avoided doing anything that elicited pain, and didn’t push too hard. I started tentatively–not knowing how my shoulder would handle things. Soon I realized that if I only climbed with my arms in front of me and did not do any moves where I was reaching far out to the side or back, I was fine. On the last climb of the day, I paid close attention to how strong and powerful I felt when to reaching up for a hold and making my way to the next one. Would there be a time in the near future when I couldn’t remember what that felt like due to decreased mobility?
On New Year’s Eve, I went ice skating with my brother-in-law’s family. As everyone went back to the warming room to take off their skates, I stayed behind and did a few laps. Once again I closed my eyes and tuned into the feeling of my legs gliding over the ice hoping to commit it to memory in the event that I wouldn’t be able to do it again.
As I sat on The Ridge looking out at the gorgeous snow-capped peaks in the distance, I thought back to the climbing, ice skating and zumba instances and once again wondered if this was the last time I would be clicking my boots into my bindings and flying down a black diamond run. Sure, these thoughts were rather melancholy and I wished I could have been thinking about happier things. However, there was one silver lining to having these feelings: they made me want to soak up the moment and savor every bit of joy that was found there.
I tilted my board towards the fall line and began to slide down the slope. As I picked up speed, I listened to the wind rush past my ears and felt snow crystals touch my smiling cheeks. I felt my body turn into this amazingly coordinated machine and bend and sway with the subtle nuances of the terrain. With years of practice, it knew the exact pressure I needed to exert on the board to make it arc gracefully through the powder. I felt the sensations in my feet as I rolled from my heel-side edge to toe-side and heard the noise of my board slicing its way through the snow. I felt agile, giggly and content and wished that slope could have gone on for at least ten more miles.
I don’t know what Thursday’s test will reveal. Maybe I will have AVN in my hip. Perhaps the pain is just from a tweaked tendon. Whatever the results–that was one heck of a snowboard ride! Perhaps we all need to delight in those amazing moments as if there will be no next time.