The mountain wasn’t happy. I was shuffling against wind, fog, snow, and rain. I couldn’t see much. I was so new to skiing that the bad visibility made me either fall or continue snail-like slow.
For hours, I followed red crosses. „I must be there soon“, I thought. The lack of signs got me a little uneasy. The weather kept me from checking my phone.
Finally, a way marker! I had made only 6 km and still had 7 to go. And it was 15:23.
„Fuck.“ I knew I couldn’t make it in daylight. The only good decision would be to let go of the idea of this multiple-day trip and to return to the starting point. I would still not be back before nightfall, but at least I knew the terrain. I stood for minutes. Then I turned around.
I kept shuffling and falling, shuffling and falling. At some point, I took the skis off and tried to walk because I had had enough, but the snow was too soft and deep. I didn’t make any progress, but just burnt more energy. I put the skis back on.
At times, when I fell, I just lay and screamed. For support, for company, for anything. It was partly a release for the frustration I had, but I was also scared. Scared to be out here in the dark. Scared my energy wouldn’t be enough. Scared of falling again because it hurt and took so much out of me. And I could feel myself getting exhausted.
My rational mind knew that I wasn’t really in danger. The temperature was mild, and I had enough layers and food with me. But this wasn’t about reason. This was about breaking open. After years of always trying to make it work, I lay in the snow and cried.
Here I was. Alone and absolutely not in control.
With kindness and patience, I got up and comforted myself. I am more than willing to give this to others and struggling to give it myself. Now I needed to. And was ready for it. I patted myself on the shoulder, took a sip of water, ate a nut bar, and continued. Slow steps, falling, getting back up, eating some snow, and further on. Encouraging words to myself.
Some red sprinkles behind the clouds told of sunset. I knew snow and dusk would still give me a bit more time. My eyes adjusted to the dimming blue light.
I think I’ve never been so excited to see artificial lights popping up in the wild as when I saw the mountain station in the distance. A dog with its neon light collar showed me I was almost back. How would this trip have been if I had decided on snowshoes, the safer and more familiar option? Who knows. Then it was time to take off the skis, and I felt happiness rushing through me.
Everything hurt, and I could barely walk. But I made it.
I booked a bed and got the hint from the caring receptionist that the sauna was still on for another hour. I threw my drenched clothes and wet stuff into my room, bought myself two cans of lemonade, and went to the sauna. I didn’t know what I would do tomorrow or the day after. But I didn’t need to.
I guess this was a proper start to my midlife reflection trip.
