The First Time

The author reflects on how rarely they break their routine and the importance of trying new things. They recall the excitement of watching ski movies and the call to action to make the most of each season. Inspired by a friend, they try ski touring for the first time, finding it challenging yet fulfilling. They appreciate the freedom and serenity of being in the mountains and reflect on the fear of uncertainty and the thrill of doing something new. The First Time, Falling into the Abyss of the Unfamiliar, written April 7th, 2024. I did a tough mutter about a year ago. During the pre-game hype session, the emcee opened with this question, when's the last time you did something for the first time? Now the obvious answer for me on that day was run through a muddy obstacle course. However, it also got me thinking how rarely I actually break my routine. How often does my default to familiarity cause me to get stuck in this rut of monotony? Growing up, my dad, my brother, and I would watch the latest Warren Miller ski movie to absolutely elevate our stoke before the upcoming ski season. Mr. Miller always posed this classic call to action that never failed to fire me up. If you don't do it this year, you'll be one year older when you do. And it always highlighted the sacred scarcity of ski season for me. The season only runs for a few months, I'll only be able to ski a few days each season, and of those days, only a few are going to have pristine conditions. So whether it's leveling up to a double black, trying a new trick, or traveling to a dream mountain, if I'm given the opportunity, then just send it. If I don't, then I'll be thinking all summer and fall about how I didn't pull the trigger. Then when the chance finally does come around again, I'll have weaker knees and I'll most certainly have more responsibilities. So this weekend, I heeded the call of Mr. Miller as I tried ski touring for the first time. And this is a version of the sport where you actually strap on skis to climb up the mountain before eventually skiing back down. And despite lifts being invented back in 1908, there are some psychos who decide to bypass this luxury in order to quote unquote earn their turns. My friend Jake Decker is one of those psychos. And yet his passion for the activity inspired me, and in part convinced me, to join him on this expedition. I'm here to report that first off, I survived, which is great, but it was equal parts challenging and fulfilling. Here's the challenging part. The ascent required muscle groups I didn't even know existed. Try walking with these massive planks on your feet up a mountain. Navigating the steep switchbacks led to multiple stumbles that were pretty comical, if I say so myself, if I wasn't so pissed off in the moment. And the storm that rolled in during our second ascent made for an unexpected change in scenery. Now here's the fulfilling part. It induced a never-before-experienced mixture of intensity and serenity. I felt an immense freedom knowing that we could traverse anywhere we wanted on the mountain. And I felt the best kind of small as I peered up at the peaks, seeing nothing but snow and trees and absent other human souls for as far as the eye could see. I shudder at the idea that I almost bypassed this opportunity for fear of uncertainty. Don't get me wrong. As I trekked into the unknown, I housed a sanctuary full of butterflies in my stomach. But much like skydiving, falling into the abyss of the unfamiliar is half the fun. That sense of opening to uncertainty is what makes me feel alive. Letting go of the ground, choosing to fly, when's the last time you did something for the first time?