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Blog > Thoughts > Other's Thoughts > Chloe's Thoughts > Imaginary Boxes

Imaginary Boxes

Written by Chloe on Saturday, April 24, 2010

There was one more discount ski lift ticket sitting on my bookshelf; one more day of skiing this season. I searched the internet for local outrigger rentals. No luck. I called the National Ability Center. No luck there either. Oh well; perhaps this would be my last day skiing with poles.

A 6.7 degree of difficulty should be a nice warm up run for me, but as soon as I ski off the lip into the wide open bowl I feel very shaky and unstable. It is significantly easier for me to ski with outriggers. On the third right turn I take a fall that is sufficiently spectacular to attract the attention of a couple of ski patrol guys. I am glad of their help digging out.

Back at the top I still feel freezing from sprawling around in the snow for a while. The south side of the ridge should be less chilly since it’s all in sunshine. I pick an 8.2 line and fall over twice on way down. Now I’m getting annoyed with myself. On the ride back up to the top I decide to up the ante. I’ll ski that 9.6 I’ve never skied before.

It’s a little tricky to find. They don’t advertise things like this on the official trail maps. Aha! There’s a knotted rope tied between trees leading steeply down the mountain. That’s the entrance. I decide that I don’t need the rope so I sideslip down to the little flat spot at the end of it, and make a turn back into the trees to the right. Traversing high leads me to the edge of the chute that is the meat of the run. I stand on the lip checking out the possibilities. It’s very steep and narrow. Just where it widens out a bit I will want to decrease speed. But there is a jagged row of rocks poking out, looking like sharks’ teeth. I contemplate the sharks’ teeth, trying to spot a way around or through them. No, I would be eaten alive; bad place to attempt entry. I work my way back through the trees, judging the required elevation loss to bring me a little below the sharks’ teeth. Back on the lip again, it’s a very steep drop off into the side of the chute but there are no rocks. Looks good. The chute is magnificent; until…

It unexpectedly ends in a rocky cliff. Ah, this is why it’s a triple black. Now what? It’s not obvious. There are no tracks from anyone else to follow. The only way out appears to be a very narrow and rocky traverse along the cliff face to the right. I can see a wide open bowl at the end of the cliff face. Here we go…

Oops! I slip and fall. There happens to be a ridge of rock protruding from the cliff face just where I fall. It brings me to a stop. I stay still and assess the situation. The drop off does not look big enough to be fatal; nor big enough for the reward of paraplegia. However, regardless of whether I fall either side of the ridge, or off the end of it a couple of feet further down, there will be an abundance of sharp rocks to contend with. The best I could hope to get away with would be a significant collection of cuts and bruises. Bad, but quite possible, outcomes would be a broken arm or a sliced artery. It’s rather remote here. It would take a while for anyone to find me. I need to get back up to the narrow ledge…

Suddenly galvanised into action, I try to scramble back up to the ledge but end up slipping a little further down the ridge. Shit! Shit shit shit! I stay completely still, precariously balanced. I need to wait for my heart rate and breathing to slow down. Be totally calm. You can do this…

Very slowly moving one limb at a time, I inch my way back up to the ledge and stand up. I look down at the sharp and abundant rocks just below me. Shit! This is not a good place to fall. The next part of the ledge traverse looks a little easier, but there are always sharp rocks down to the left. I ski along the ledge until it becomes very tricky again, and stop to contemplate the difficult part. It looks like less than twenty feet separating me from that beautiful wide open unskied bowl. But there is no way to slow down on that final part of the descending cliff traverse. Once you start you are committed. If you fall, it will be onto the sharp rocks below. The ledge itself has a number of protruding rocks. Hitting any of them with your skis will immediately throw you off the cliff. Believe that you can do it, Chloe! Don’t think about doing it. Don’t try to do it. Just do it, knowing that you can. I study the ledge carefully, memorising every detail. Then, a few seconds later, without looking down, I find myself safely in the top of the bowl.

Ah yes, here are the rewards of difficult access; a beautiful pristine bowl of virgin powder. I stop about halfway down and look up at the cliff band I had worked my way through. It looks completely impossible from below. Sometimes one looks back at things one has done and wonders how they were accomplished. Sometimes what it takes is to believe that the impossible is possible after all.

You didn’t think this was a post about skiing did you? The BIID metaphors drip from it.

Shaken, shaking, rattled, I realise the only thing that will calm me down is ice cream… It’s the same girl behind the counter as last week. She recognises me and seems even more astonished that I would come back for such an early ice cream yet again. What? Early? How is 10:45 am possibly too early for ice cream? It doesn’t make any sense. Apparently some people are completely insane. Too early for ice cream… HA!

Time to contemplate my navel while sucking on ice cream. I’ve been thinking about BIID and paraplegia all morning; all those people who become paraplegic from skiing accidents. How come I can’t do it?

I pull out of my pocket photocopied pages from my guidebook to skiing at this resort. I read what he has to say about the 9.6 that I just did, munching ice cream all the while. "Much favored by extreme-skier types and wannabees." Wannabes huh? (I don’t like the spelling with an extra "e" that is in the book). So, what am I? An extreme-skier or a wannabe? How do you tell the difference? Is there a difference? Are you an extreme-skier just by attempting such a thing. If you almost fall off the cliff, does that make you a wannabe instead? What do these boxes mean? What do any boxes mean? They’re not real.

Am I a disabled skier or a wannabe disabled skier? Perhaps a wannabe disabled wannabe extreme-skier? When I’m skiing able bodied mode I feel somewhat disabled. When I ski with outriggers I don’t feel disabled at all. What is the difference between a disabled skier and a wannabe disabled skier? Is there a difference? Are they just meaningless boxes? I read very recently that sit-skiing is catching on as an increasingly popular AB sport. Why not? The box boundaries fuzzify.

Real or not, I still don’t wannabe a wannabe. I flick through the photocopied pages until I come to "Death Chute". I want to end the season with a 9.75 or two. The text says "Fail and there are nasty rocks waiting to make your acquaintance. The name is quite appropriate."

The first stop on the way from ice cream to Death Chute is the chairlift where I learnt to ski with outriggers. I cry on the way up. There’s the blue run on one side, black run on the other. This will always be a special chairlift. Those will always be special runs. This is where I learnt adaptive skiing.

I stand at the top of Death Chute, looking down into it. I’m trying to find a possible route through all the rocks. I’m not finding one. Should I just leap into the top of the chute hoping I’ll find a way through? I stand for a while. A couple of hotshot snowboarder dudes join me at the top. I don’t converse with them but I overhear their conversation. "That’s Death Chute." "You going in?" "No, there’s mandatory air." I’ll translate. It means that you have no choice but to ski off a cliff.

The boarders head down the ridge to look at the next chute, also a 9.75. I follow them shortly after. They already decided against it and head further down the ridge for easier stuff. I stand at the top, looking down. It’s steeper, longer and narrower than Death Chute. The leap in from the top is bigger and scarier. But there seem to be much less rocks; and I’m thinking that I see all the way to the bottom without mandatory air. I like the signs at the top: "Warning! Cliff Area", and "Ski With Caution". I start giggling to myself. Sure, cautious skiers are going to attempt a 9.75 chute. Oops, sarcasm! Well, this is it Chloe. These are the two most difficult chutes off a famously extreme ridge at a famously challenging ski resort. It’s now or never. Often, the really difficult part of something is overcoming the fear in your mind prior to an irreversible leap. I stand at the top for a while.

The leap takes my breath away but I continue down, falling twice on the way. At the bottom of the chute I make a sharp right, and traverse to get a good view up from the bottom of Death Chute. I study it very carefully. The dude was correct. The air is mandatory. You have no choice but to ski off the cliff. Not only that but you’d have to get it just right in terms of both angle and speed. Too cautious, too slow, and you land right on top of that big pointy rock. The approach would have to be quite fast to clear the rock. But I made a promise. I promised Alicia. I promised Sean. I promised that I wouldn’t deliberately ski off a cliff. A year ago I would have attempted it. Several things have changed. Letting go of emotional baggage from my mother was amazingly powerful. I no longer have the urge to prove to her, to myself, or anybody else, that she was wrong in her irrational fear of every aspect of life. I understand what made her that way. But it’s HER baggage, not mine. I’ve disassociated from it. A year ago I would have been attracted by the name "Death Chute". The possibility of dying seemed like a viable option (to misquote Sean). I haven’t had a single suicidal thought since letting go. Er, wait… Isn’t thinking that you’re not having a suicidal thought in of itself a suicidal thought? Hmm…

So, there it is Chloe. It’s interesting how it takes some courage NOT to attempt Death Chute. The courage to live perhaps? The conscious choice that you want to be alive. But you’ll have keep doing laps until you get that other 9.75 chute right. These are no small laps; 3000ft vertical each time, with the triple black chute just one small part of it.

Second time down the chute I only fall once. On the way back to the chairlift, the sharp pain in my left quadriceps becomes intense. You WILL keep going. Ouch! Ouch ouch ouch! That’s interesting; a year ago I would have said "Shut up you stupid whiny little bitch!" Now it is enough to say "Ouch!" Didn’t I recently say that I no longer want pain? What’s with the keep going regardless mentality? It’s not the pain. It’s the reward. I know exactly what that pain means. It means that if I keep going, the mandatory limp will last for more than a week.

Third time’s a charm, right? I fall four times on the way down the chute. Shit! Shit shit shit! I’m losing focus and concentration. I need to break it up with something different to rebuild confidence. Back to the south side of the mountain for that super-fast groomed blue-black. I imagine that I’m skiing it with outriggers. I imagine that with outriggers I am able to ski it much faster.

I take a seldom used chairlift to a remote part of the mountain. I need to be alone. I need to seek the metaphor. I need to find my own way down.

I’m standing at the top of the chute again. This time, Chloe, you will NOT fall over. Yes, the difficult part is in the mind. You have to believe that you can make that leap, and not fall over at all.
I look back up at the chute. I didn’t fall over. But… THAT… isn’t good enough. You hesitated. You paused. Try again. NO! Don’t try. Don’t think that you can do it. KNOW that you can do it. Just DO IT!

This will be the last time; the last chance. the chairlift will be closed for the day. There will be no time for another lap. This time; you are going to do it properly…

At the bottom, heart racing, I look back up at the chute… A perfectly executed triple black. The sun is shining just above the ridge line. I start crying again. What now? Is it because that’s the last triple black you’ll ever do? Is it because it’s the last time you’ll ski able bodied style? Or… Perhaps it’s because you still haven’t quite got used to this recently acquired sense of peace.

There’s another couple of thousand feet back down to the car. I’m skiing slowly, savoring every second. I start crying again. That’s okay. I go off into the wilds where I know there’s a chute hidden away. It looks easy and I ski right into it without hesitation. I remember the first time I skied it. I stood at the top, scared. But the difficult part is the mind, isn’t it? At the bottom of the chute I stop, thinking about my wheelchair. I was so scared to use my wheelchair at work. But that was the difficult part; the thinking that it would be scary. Actually doing it wasn’t scary. Just do what you need to do, Chloe. Now I’m standing here at the bottom of the chute with tears streaming down my face. I’m remembering the letting go exercise, when we were blindfolded. Towards the end, the psychotherapist guided us to go back in time and meet with our child selves. There was no guidance as to what the conversation should be about. It was just spontaneous. I tightly embraced seven year old Chloe and said "Everything’s going to be okay." She replied "Yes. I know. You’re okay now."

Tags: BIID, Bitch, Boxes, Cliff, Disabled, Ice Cream, Limp, Metaphor, Outriggers, Pain, Paraplegia, Psychotherapist, Rocks, Sharks, Skiing, Virgin, Wannabe, Wheelchair

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