(originally sent 20/07/26)
Dropping in real quick from Queenstown, Aotearoa…
This past week Sas and I have had a whirlwind of fun; first traveling to Sydney to see her family for a delicious birthday dinner (thank you for all the well-wishes). We then arrived in Windy Wellington to stay with our dear friends and explore the city, where we also celebrated our 13 year anniversary. The four of us continued to Queenstown together, where we have been enjoying the stunning scenery and snow sports galore.
I’m writing this on Sunday morning, so today is our last day out on the slopes, and as always, it’s been very thrilling, exhausting, difficult and so worth it.
Snowboarding is one of the times I feel my yoga practice kick in immensely off the mat. The amount of presence required is almost unparalleled to me. I need to be hyper aware of my surroundings, lest I run into someone (or they run into me!). If you come near me while I’m linking my turns, you’ll hear me muttering mantra under my breath — “bend your knees, toes, toes, toes, look up the mountain, bend your knees, look down, heels, heels, heels, let the board take you…”
And then I fall down. And get up. And fall down. And get up again. Again. And again.
I cry almost every day that I’m on the slopes because it’s so frustrating, so hard, so tiring. And yet… it’s still worth it. It’s worth the time it takes to travel, lug the gear across the ocean, drive up the mountain, wait in line after line. It’s worth the toll it takes on the body (my whiplash is strong this trip). It’s worth the obscene amount of money it costs. It’s worth the freezing cold.
Why?
The stunning scenery, the absolute sense of freedom, the satisfaction of making it down a run having only fallen over once (or twice). The joy of catching a chairlift with friends, of watching my partner of 13 years look so damn cool in her 80s jumpsuit, riding switch. The trust that I build in myself by keeping on going, even when I feel like giving up multiple times a day.
Snowboarding, like yoga, has rewired something in me. It’s changed an internal narrative I used to carry around, telling myself I wasn’t able to stand on my head, or sit still for 10 minutes, or do snow sports. That I wasn’t strong enough or good enough. That I’d missed the boat.
With enough practice — and patience — and support, and tenderness, we can absolutely do hard things. If there is a desire, and that desire is strong enough, so much is possible.
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