When You Stop Needing to Prove Yourself, Skiing Gets Weird
Is Anyone Else Grieving the Skier They Used to Be?
Recently I've noticed that my relationship to skiing is changing. I’m slower than I used to be, more cautious, and fucking... anxious.
I used to rip off down the hors-piste in first place so that everyone could see my confidence, and how much fun I was having. I used to zoom past other skiers who I expected would be baffled by my speed and dexterity, weaving among them. I used to laugh as I went flying off a ski jump and fell on my ass (or not). Now those exact same terrains make me nervous, going fast freaks me out and that vertical jump—forget it.
I used to race to be first out on a powder day; now I don’t really care. I used to ski alone a lot... and now it feels lonely, rather than nourishing.
I haven't been sure what to make of it— is this just what turning forty is like? Will I now be more and more afraid of all the activities I've loved most? Is this fear going to plague me for the rest of my days, inhibiting my ability to let go and have fun?
When I compile my observations and thoughts about it, it’s more than that. It’s a question of awareness, ego, and identity.
My last partner (of over five years) was a ski instructor, who taught me to ski with control and technique, rather than zoomies. He taught me avalanche risks and the true rules of the piste (and why they exist). Once you know these things, you can’t un-know them. You look at the mountain, yourself and other skiers differently.
So what is experienced as fear is actually a new, accurate perception of reality.
Ego on the mountain
One of the most obvious pieces of the puzzle was: I have less ego than younger versions of me.
And lately I’ve noticed something striking: when someone skis dangerously and it’s pointed out to them (even calmly), the reaction is often anger, defensiveness… or even kicking off. It’s incredible. If I say to someone “Hey, that was dangerous— you really scared me!!” I’m at risk of them literally flipping me the bird and hollering “Fuck you!” . Seems a bit harsh, no?
That type of response, I’ve realised as I write this piece, isn’t really about the feedback— it’s about identity threat.
On the mountain, being fast, fearless, and cheeky isn’t just behaviour — it’s who you are. So when safety, limits, or responsibility enter the conversation, ego flares. Their mind says, “who do you think you are? I’m a bad-ass fierce reckless skier and you’re who-ever-the-fuck talking to me like my mom”, and they react like giant, weird, defiant children.
The mountain can be a very prickly ego environment.
And so in seeing their identity threat, I realised something illuminating about myself: my frustration over this new fear— it's actually grief. The confusion and disappointment I'm experiencing is identity grief.
I once was a fierce, fearless, bad-ass ski babe who would do all the things… and now I’m the cautious, contained, slightly nervous skier who will do it if there’s no fucking risk of avalanche and if it isn’t a holiday weekend where hotshot dads are going to murder me in an attempt to break their speed record. I used to ski to prove myself, to show the world what I was capable of and the things I could do. To show the world how cool and valuable I am. It also helped me belong to a group that I considered very cool. It made me feel competent and impressive.
I was a fierce, fearless, bad-ass ski babe.
…and now I'm Leslie.
And that comes with grief. Grief for a version of me who I admire in a way…
And I suspect I’m not alone in this.
So I’m curious — has anyone else experienced this? Have you noticed a shift where an activity you once pushed hard in started to feel strangely flat, or even anxiety‑provoking, once ego dropped out of the picture?
Maybe nothing is wrong with us— maybe we’re just changing the terms of the relationship.
And maybe what looks like stagnation is actually integration, even if it feels disorienting at first.
Leslie