This weekend I went on a skiing holiday with a group of friends who meet and rent a large house at Mt Tremblant
I went knowing I couldn’t ski because of my knee. (The good news is that skiing is on the list of activities I can expect to be able to do in the future, unlike running which is forever off the menu.) I thought I’d be able to fat bike but the rental shop was sold out.
Instead, I got out for some walks. I enjoyed the pool and the hot tub. I read some dissertation chapters and had fun visiting with people.
Why’d I go with my busted knee?
Partly, I suppose, optimism. I’m relentlessly optimistic. Partly because I’d planned this in the early months of last summer before my knee had even started to bother me.
Also, of the couples that come, not everyone skis. Some people just enjoy the weekend away, the beautiful scenery, the deer, the mountains, etc.
I was okay not skiing. But I was sad that I couldn’t go fat biking. I got some much needed reading done in a great environment. Nothing like thesis reading in front of a roaring fireplace.
But the thing that was the hardest was my self image. Like the elevator I felt the need to constantly explain. Yes, normally I’d be out there. I’m not skiing, or snow shoeing, because of an injury. I’m not one of the non-active partners. Really, I’m not.
Yes, I’m just learning to ski. But normally I cross country ski. I also ride my fat bike in the snow. I snow shoe too. But then there’s this knee.
Lots of people had their stories of bad knees and ankles and hips and shoulders. There was a lot of commiseration
It’s interesting to me how much that matters and how much physical activity is part of who I am. Especially as I’m getting older people think I’m giving up activities because of age. I’m not. I’m not!
Mt Tremblant, I’ll be back.
Here’s me in my pink parka, staying toasty warm in the snow.