Dear Skiers I Haven’t Met Yet
Dear Skiers I Haven’t Met Yet,
This website exists because, for a few months, my outdoor career did not. In October, just as the snow guns fired up, an unexpected health crisis crashed my life to a standstill. I’m only now finally getting back on my skis.
I’d never had surgery before—let alone two in as many months. Learning to sit still without losing my mind felt like an interminable bootpack in a whiteout to a peak that may or may not exist. Time taunted. November’s fake snow turned into December’s real stuff. The mountain opened. The lifts spun. Meanwhile, all I sent was Netflix and the couch.
Beneath the searing lights of the OR, the last thing I remember is chit-chatting with my anesthesiologist and surgeon—both skiers. They joked about needing lessons, especially in the moguls.
“Bumps are my specialty. I love teaching in the bumps…” I muttered before drooling off into the darkness.
Fast-forward eight weeks. The pain that plagued my left side is gone. My incisions have healed, leaving only a few tiny scars. It’s as if nothing happened. Except that it did.
The biggest lesson I had to learn was one I’ve been teaching others for years: surrender. Health is like gravity; eventually, it’s gonna drag you downhill. I had no choice but to relinquish control and drop into the fall line of my own mortal life—one effing turn at a time. When I whined as much to a dear friend and retired teacher over grilled cheese, he reminded me:
“Never forget, there are students, skiers, you haven’t met yet.”
As my body healed, so did a long-neglected part of me—the writer. I turned off the TV and wrote a little book: Sucking Better at Skiing: A Philosophy. In the process, I uncovered important truths I’d taken for granted, diving deep into what skiing means to me and why I derailed my city life to teach it full-time. Maybe I had been speaking only to the skiers in front of me, rather than those I had yet to meet. Namely, you.
Like skiing, health scares force you to reckon with past choices—the cigarettes you smoked, the “YOU WILL DIE” signs you skied past with no beacon—as well as the future. Somewhere in the blur of my TV binge, I heard a woman say, “We are all born with two numbers. The dash is what you do with your life.”
Though I received the ultimate gift—an uninterrupted dash, for now—this brush with vulnerability made me think about how time goes like snowpack in May. Also, legacy—all the skiers I have yet to meet and maybe never will.
Among those skiers I haven’t met yet is the greatest skier in the world, Mikaela Shiffrin, who was impaled at a World Cup GS race in Killington. She was about a week ahead of me in the surgery process and shared her struggles openly on social media. If she got up and went for a walk, so did I. When she gingerly made some turns, I tried to follow suit. Seeing someone I admire speak candidly about the mental and physical toll of recovery ultimately gave me the courage to do the same.
Just yesterday, Mikaela, now back on the circuit, announced that she’s bowing out of the GS World Championships. She wrote:
"Honestly, I really didn’t anticipate experiencing so much of this kind of mental/PTSD struggle in GS from my injury in Killington. Like always, I tried diving into the challenge, hoping to get there by Worlds. I figured my passion and longing to compete would outweigh the mental barriers. Maybe that will be the case over time, but I’m not there yet.”
“I’m not there yet.” These might be some of the kindest, most caring words in the English language. Especially for a skier of any level contemplating comeback mode.
Getting back out there has to be balanced with taking the time and space to acknowledge whatever is going on. After something big happens, on or off the hill, things will inevitably be different when you click back in. And that’s ok. So, to the skiers I haven’t met yet: if you’re navigating curveballs—physical, mental, or otherwise—know that you’re not alone.
See you out there, soon,
KK