My First Time Skiing in Nearly 20 Years
After nearly 20 years, I finally got back on skis for the first time this winter and (spoiler alert) I cried. A lot. Not because I fell (miraculously, I didn’t), but because skiing has been such a huge part of my life story, and I’d stopped for so long. But to fully understand the significance, we need to start at the beginning.
I started skiing when I was four years old in Smithers, BC, with a rope tied around my waist and my dad holding the other end (thanks, dad). Then, we moved from Burns Lake to the Lower Mainland where we got to take full advantage of the family cabin that my dear Grandpa built (back in the ‘60s) in Sunshine Valley, just outside of Hope. Skiing defined my family, and being 40 minutes from Manning Park ski hill, we were there every weekend for many years.
From the age of six, I learned how to race downhill in the Nancy Greene Ski League. I even got to meet Nancy Greene when I was eight! In high school, I joined Burnaby North Viking’s team. I was not as good as my brother, but still pretty good. To this day (as far as I know), my brother holds the record for the only boy from our high school to make it to the High School Provincial Downhill Ski Championships for all five years of high school, and I hold the record for the only girl to do the same! I got to travel around the province to different resorts, races and events. It was amazing.
When I was 14 years old, we, unfortunately, had to sell the family cabin. My parents had recently split (that sucked, but not the point of my story) and my mom was unable to keep it.
My mum is a rock star for so many reasons. Not having a cabin to stay at didn’t stop us. Every Saturday and Sunday morning the ski hill was open, so we would wake up at 5 a.m., eat breakfast, get all our gear together and hit the road by 6 a.m. to drive from Burnaby up to Manning (between two to 2.5 hours depending on weather), arrive around 8 a.m., have a snack and be on the hill by 9 a.m.
We would ski together or with our friends, meet for lunch at noon, ski the rest of the afternoon, then meet up at quitting time for the long drive home. We did this for four years, until I graduated high school. How on Earth my mom was able to afford all of this as a single parent on a teacher’s salary, I will never understand. Like I said, she’s a rock star.
Then my brother moved away to Australia for school, and I got a job with Sundays off. The following winter, it was just mom and I making the long trip, for one amazing day a week, listening to our pump-up song Bloody Well Right by Supertramp along the drive.
The following winter, I moved to Manning Park to work with a free Season’s Pass included! Heck yeah! My mom still made the drive up most weekends to ski and see her friends. I worked in the Alpine Rental shop Tuesday through Saturday and had the privilege of coaching in the Nancy Greene Ski League on Sundays.
I stayed in Manning Park for two years. I met my husband, Matt, at Manning Park my first winter there (it took 12 more years for us to get together, but again, that’s a whooooole other story). When I decided it was time to leave Manning Park, it wasn’t easy, but it eventually landed me in the Fraser Valley, Chilliwack, where I still am.
I continued to ski in the winter on my days off with my partner at the time. I couldn’t tell you why I stopped going, but 2008 was the last time I skied. And since then, there has been a little piece of my heart missing.
My sister-in-law, Sarah Laffin, is a relentless encourager who spent years trying to drag me back to the hill. I always said yes, then backed out of it, usually at the last minute. Matt has always encouraged me to “get back out there” and I’ve always found an excuse not to do it (we can’t afford it, I have a tummy ache, the moon’s not right, I have a hangnail, Mars is in retrograde). I’m embarrassed at the excuses I’ve come up with over the years. Thankfully, Sarah never gave up on me.
She asked me after Christmas 2024 if I wanted to go, and I said yes (and admittedly, immediately regretted my answer). But something was different this time. I felt different. She left it up to me to pick a day, so after looking at the calendar, analyzing everything about the month, the weekend, the day… January 19, 2025, was it.
I researched how much a lift ticket was, and rentals and helmet, as I had recently learned that my 19-year-old helmet probably didn’t have much integrity left in it, and there’s no way, at this age, I’m going to risk cracking my head open on the ski hill.
I felt nervous as hell. It’s been so long. What if I fall? What if I fall and can’t get up? How embarrassing! What if I don’t remember what I’m doing? Screw it, I’m not going. Now I need a good excuse to back out, even though I just bought new mitts and goggles (because I wear glasses now and need the OTG goggles, ugh). I can return them.
For three weeks, I argued with myself. With every passing day, I just had to keep telling myself not to text Sarah, because if I did, I would regret it. I would cancel and hate myself for it. I can proudly say, this time, I didn’t let that stupid little voice in my head win.
Sarah picked me up at 7:30 a.m. Sunday morning and we were on our way! I felt a lot of anxiety but tried to push through it. I only mildly felt like I might get sick in her truck.
As we pulled off the highway and towards the hill, I started crying. So many memories started flooding in as we took the winding, snowy road up to the hill. I pulled myself together just in time to come around the corner, into the parking lot and see the ski hill. Then the floodgates opened again. Meanwhile, Sarah just held my hand.
I composed myself. In the Alpine Rental Shop, I got geared up and purchased my lift ticket. I was here! I was doing it!
As we approached the lift, the ski patrollers told us we had to wait so they could take a toboggan up in front of us. I was grateful for that moment to focus on my breathing and remind myself, ‘I am meant to be here, in this moment.’ We got on the chairlift without issue, brought the safety bar down and I started crying again. In case you’re not keeping track, that’s three times so far. We got to the top, and we were off.
I don’t know if I can properly describe what I felt in those first moments. It was bliss. It was centering. It was perfect. It was spiritual. It was… right. I started making some turns, and I was right back to where I needed to be. It was like riding a bicycle. Every little bit of muscle memory was there. And yes, I cried again. We did a few runs on the Bear Chair (for those of you that know Manning Park, this used to be the Orange Chair), then headed over to the Blue Chair for a few runs. It was perfect. That little piece of my heart wasn’t missing anymore.
It was cold and snowing (thankfully, they needed it) and perfect. We shared a cry as we talked about Sarah’s daughter’s (my niece’s) recent loss of her boyfriend, and how he would have been there with us. I think he was with us, watching over us. A few more runs and we stopped for lunch.
While sitting and eating lunch, I heard the song that was playing in the Day Lodge: Bloody Well Right by Supertramp. That’s right, mom’s and my song. I mean, of all the songs in all the world, what are the chances that that one, so strongly associated with that location, would play while I’m there? I’m no mathematician, but I think the chances are slim. But the Universe—she knew.
Sarah and I knew that being women in our 40s, and me not in the greatestshape, that we weren’t going to be skiing until the last run, especially since it was my first time in nearly 20 years. We got our gear back on and headed back out to the hill for a few more runs. We decided (thankfully at the same time) it was probably a good idea to think about calling it a day, when our legs were no longer responding to our brains as they had been earlier.
So, we took one last ride up and run down and headed to return the gear and pack up for home. I am beyond grateful to have been able to have this experience again. Am I a crybaby? Yes, I absolutely am. But at least they were all happy tears. There was nothing sad about it. I was exhausted, with a half wind-burned face when I got home. It was a soul-cleansing day; hopefully the first of many more to come.
I promise I won’t wait another 20 years to connect to myself, my past and my family on skis—and I hope you won’t either.
MEC’s RAD Days area paid day off for every permanent staffer to get outside and embrace adventure. MEC was so inspired by Emily’s courage and ultimately her joy at being back on skis after 17 years that the company wanted to share her story with Explore Magazine’s audience. It sums up exactly what it looks like to inspire staff and members. Whether this means helping customers find the right gear for their next adventure or inspiring staffers to reconnect with the outdoors, MEC is about making those moments happen. Because sometimes, the greatest adventure is getting back to where you belong.
What a great read! My knee does not like skiing anymore ☹️. Well done!
Way to go!. Congratulations.