The lessons before the lesson begins. Or, loving someone who is gone.

This morning, we all went into the Shala for 8am practice. As usual, Bodhi and his young friends Issac and Abbie came in and stood next to me all in a line for the invocation. Like little devas, they flit around the shala, settling in to visit and bringing great energy to all of us. 

Before we began, our Guru, Prem, asked us to sit down. He had something to tell us. This is kind of an unusual request. If there is something to be said, generally his beautiful partner, Rhada, makes whatever announcement, and then we begin with the usual invocation. 

We all took a seat. Prem began to try to speak, but there was only silence. He took a breath and settled quietly into himself. We waited, wondering. When Prem has something important to share, there is quiet. He does not rush. He listens for his mind and heart to quiet. When I watch, it is like I am watching the human emotion settle like sand to the bottom of the lake, and for space to open up. He becomes taller, but not by straining. When that space is there, he speaks. Watching him prepare to share is as big a lesson as whatever he is about to say. 

He tried to speak a few times, he didn’t seem to struggle against it, trying to get it under control, so much as open his mouth to speak and realize his heart wasn’t prepared. More had to settle. We sat quietly. What could have happened to rock Prem so hard?  Bodhi waited, still, beside me. Abby looked at me, her six year old heart concerned for her friend Prem. 

Prem opened his eyes. “Today is the day that Guruji died.” he said, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. “Four years ago today.” 

Prem and Sri K. Pattabhi Jois

He looked up at the photo on the post at the front of the shala. His loss laid bare. Pattabhi Jois was like a father to Prem, he had been his teacher, his guiding heart, his Goo Remover, since 1979. He had touched every part of Prem’s life. Patabi Jois had pushed him, and ignored him, bothered him, and worked with him, and loved him, just like a father. 

Prem took a breath and told us a little about their connection, about how hard it was to be without him, about how much Patabi Jois had touched their lives both Rhada’s and his. He shared as he struggled at the front of the class. 

One of the things that’s magic about Prem is that he can talk to a whole room of people, some of whom he just met today, like he’s talking to a bunch of friends over lunch. One of his many gifts is transparent authenticity. He showed us his loss and his love for Guruji. It was simple, beautiful, sad and grateful. It looked just like love. 

“Today,” he said, “I want to honor all the teachers. They are in front of us and in back of us like an infinite mirror in a fun house. Pattabhi Jois, Krishnamacharya, before him all the way back to Patanjali. And before him, and before him, all the way back to Vishnu, Bramha, Shiva and their Shaktis.” He squeezed Rhada’s hand. She balances him. He honors her for it. 

“Would that be okay? If we dedicate our practice today to Guruji?” he looked at us, searching. Of course. 

As we chanted our gratitude for the teachers, and their teachers, and the infinite lineage of teachings we can receive, I found my own face wet with tears. It wasn’t the loss that I was looking at. It wasn’t longing or attachment, necessarily. It looked like emptiness. What it looked like to me was that Guruji was no longer there for Prem to express gratitude to. And Prem, in that moment, missed him.

I know this feeling. To be full of love, to have so much thanks to give, and to have the vessel you want to pour it into to be incapable of receiving. 

Human attachment is a difficult thing. How do we love, how do we give, how do we intertwine, teach each other, hold each other up, boost each other over obstacles, hold each other’s feet to the fire, and not miss each other when we are gone? 

I think its okay to miss someone. Bodhi and I talk about this a lot. Missing someone means you love them. When you miss them a lot, it is an indication of how strong your love for that person is. If, in that space, we can find gratitude to have felt connection that deep, we are truly blessed. 

If, in the space of missing we begin wishing, this is when attachment begets suffering. I don’t believe that experiencing loss mean you are experiencing attachment and that is a BAD thing. It means you are feeling your human heart. 

We are human. We are meant to feel ourselves, this is how we learn, how we grow, how we become more than we are. There is loss. Feel it. Welcome it. It is now your teacher. To have had a love so great, a guide so strong, a teacher so important vanish from your life is devastating. He is gone. No amount of wishing will change that. But in that hollow, echoey space where Guruji used to be, there is the edge of longing, but also an enormous space, a space big enough to fill with gratitude. With the gratitude of Prem and Rhada, who learned at his feet, and with the gratitude of all the students in an infinite line who sit at their feet. 

I was so grateful that Bodhi was in the shala this morning. I don’t know how much of this is leaking in, but some of it does. And today, Bodhi, who struggles with lessons, saw someone he respects enormously have gratitude for teachers. 

Prem’s voice grew stronger as he chanted the opening prayer. The shala filled with voices. This morning, Prem taught all of us, but today we learned about loss and love and gratitude before we even came to the front of our mat. 

In which we learn an American Lesson with a Balinese Face and tattoo it for good measure.

I came to Bali declaring that I had no agenda. I was going to study yoga for two months in the jungle before going where I "really" wanted to go: India. I stated out loud that I didn't know how I'd change and I wasn't going looking for anything. I was kind of planning on learning whatever profound lessons there were to learn in India, after I had relaxed and played at the beach with Bodhi, and gotten my yoga practice to have a bit more depth before I showed my face in the "real" place.

But you know, I had no agenda. I was open. (Sounds like it, huh?)

I knew on some level that travel always changes you, and that traveling with Bodhi would change us both. I had a feeling we'd become buddies, and I'd have some sort of deeper revelations in the same vein that I have in the yoga studio in Aspen, because its just a stretching arm of a practice that already is teaching me in my life.

I was hoping, maybe, that the exotic location of India would unlock some deeper, mystical concept of myself, after the soaking up of all things good in Bali. Bali was going to be my reprieve, India my hard work. Again, no agenda. No, for real. Its not that I wasn't open to learning, its that I was planing to learn something profound if and when it presented itself when I was in a profound land.

Oh, Kate. Come on. As soon as I stepped off the plane, I knew Bali was more for me than I wanted it to be. It is a strange, beautiful, crazy collision of a place, it feels something like the chaotic inside of my mind.

So okay. I'm here to learn. And let the learning begin in Bali.

But... I feel that I am ready for some more resonant truth, some higher wisdom, I'm tired of the mundane self reflection lessons I have to learn. Maybe in Bali I would understand "Life" a little better.

I did have the idea that Bali would be a paradise, white sand beaches, Thailand with waves, maybe. After the chaos of the ski season, I was looking forward to five months alone with my kid.

I arrived here at first disappointed that I had a safety net of friends accidentally spring up, part of the lesson I was trying to construct for myself was that we had done this on our own and in doing so some deeper truth had been revealed. (But remember, I didn't come here with an agenda or an idea of what I was going to learn).

And then I found gratitude for the friends I found. And then, I met Dewi Sri, and everything changed.

Dewi Sri is the Goddess of Rice. And if that was really all there was to it, she probably would not now occupy a prominent place on my right shoulder and arm in the form of the biggest, most beautiful tattoo I've ever had.

I walked by her statue in Ubud and was completely struck by her. She was breathtaking. She looked gentle, kind, wise, young, old, inviting. I started walking by her on purpose. I don't really believe in the devine. But I do believe in our ability as humans to embody knowledge in packages called Gods.

"Who is this?" I posted on Facebook with a photo of her.

"That's Dewi Sri. Goddess of the rice harvest. Thanks, I needed to see that." came the reply.

Why would she need to see that? Doesn't the girl that responded live in Seattle? Is she really into rice?

I investigated further. It turns out that Dewi Sri is the Goddess of plenty, of bounty. This is symbolized by the rice harvest she holds in her hand. When you are blessed by Dewi Sri, one of the outcomes is that you have a bountiful rice harvest.

But that happens because you have a healthy, happy family who works hard and happily together. You create the wealth in your life through your relationships. She also symbolises Science, as well as beauty and love.

I looked at this statue. I looked around inside my heart. I want a life blessed by Dewi Sri. I want this for my children.  I started to measure my decisions by her. As I used to ask "Will this help me achieve my goal?" as I went for the National Team, now I am asking, "Does this look like a blessing from Dewi Sri? Will this increase the bounty of love, happiness and wealth (of whatever kind) in our family?"

It sounds like an exotic lesson. But I was shocked to have to learn it again. Because it showed up in the form of a very old lesson that I have ALREADY FUCKING LEARNED. Several times. In America. And this time, I felt a bit pinned to the ground while the lesson was water-boarded into me. Do you get it, Kate? Will you learn it this time?

At first I was really sad and disappointed in myself. I know this lesson. I'm familiar with it. I thought I had changed this years ago. I began, in my daily yoga practice, where most of this stuff leaks out of your pores every morning, to be faced inescapably with my truth. I was grateful for it, the lessons come gently and just kind of sit down in front of you, naked and waiting while you work in the shala. But if you see them, and don't take action, the lesson will stare you down until you listen. Sooner or later, you are gonna learn.

So I did the only sensible thing I could, I got sick. I came down with a mad case of Bali Beli, a fever, stomach cramps, I was sick in bed where its really far away from the Shala, sweating, and hurting, and worrying. I missed about eight days. And I suffered. And the lesson kept showing up anyway. In every corner, in every breath, in every way.

Finally, I felt like I was whimpering in the corner. "But I don't want to learn an American lesson from regular life that I already know and already learned and fixed. I want to be evolved enough to learn something GOOD. Come ON!" Boom. Sick again. Just as I was recovering.

Two more days in bed. Two more days aching to go to yoga, where at least I'm growing while I'm staring this thing down. I decided to stop fighting. I rolled over onto my right side, and surrendered to it.

You are right where you need to be to learn the lesson you need to learn. And that lesson is not always pleasant or comfortable. It got quiet in my heart and head.

I went back to class. I blinked, I felt a bit shell shocked, a bit sheepish. "Okay, you don't have to yell." I felt like telling the universe. "I'm here."

We begin again. Follow the breath. Practice and all is coming. Mulah Bundah. Find your center, root to the earth, find length and space. For the breath, for the lesson. I began to breathe again. Rhada told me "Your practice is getting juicier. That's the energy I was looking for, Kate."

Addee took almost six hours to make each detail just so. A dash of color in two weeks. Incredible.

Today, Bodhi and I drove to Kuta, where Addee from Rumble Avenue Tattoo made a beautiful picture of Dewi Sri on my arm. She is coming out of the waves where Bodhi is finding himself and stepping over his own fear. My mundane, unwanted, American lesson has an exotic face. And I'm so grateful for it. Now, its a promise.

And, I suppose I have also been reminded that the next lesson is the next lesson. We don't get to pick. Maybe I'll take that one, as well, and truly try to stop choosing. Maybe I'll
  open my eyes and heart and just listen to what's next.

Thank you, Prem and Rhada for your support and patience. Thank you Bodhi for your love and for letting me teach you. Thank you, Tom and Ethan, for letting us come allll the way here to find ourselves. Thank you, Addee for your incredibly detailed, patient, dedicated hard work. Thank you, Dewi Sri, for finding a form I could relate to, for showing up. And thank you Bali, for being more than I bargained for.

Pulled over by cops on the way to Kuta Beach. Bali adventures continue...

Sitting by the side of the road, there is a thin crust of sweat and dirt across my forehead. The policeman is trying to take my keys out of my scooter, his friend is insisting “300,000 Rupiah. You pay.” 

My nine year old, Bodhi, sits calmly behind me, his surf shorts still damp, his flip flops dangling lazily. He stares, bored, across the street at the other westerners caught in the net of cash hungry cops, every one of them pulling their wallets out. 

“No, I don’t have any money.” I say, and pull my keys back out of the cop’s hand. I’m surprised he doesn’t hold on the them tighter. He wants money, he doesn’t want a scene. What they are doing is quasi legal, they can stop us and look for our papers and give us tickets if we don’t have our shit together. And we don’t. But they aren’t stopping us to hand out tickets, they are stopping us to collect bribes. 

I am supposed to have a “bluie” or a 50k note tucked in with my registration just in case this happened, but I don’t. All my money (and I just went to the ATM), is together in my wallet. If they see it, they will take it all.

Bodhi sweats quietly on the back of the motorbike, shifting. He wants to go surfing. For once in his life, he doesn’t ask a question: “What’s going on? What do they want? Are we in trouble?” He just hangs out, hands limply clasped around me. 

“300,000 you pay. This is the fine, no international driver’s license, this is very bad, you pay.”

I look at him, his friend is holding on to the back of my bike. My friend Jamie is stopped just ahead of me, all his Kiwi bluster in full bloom. He’s waving his hands and barking at the cop who is hassling him. “No, bro, no way, dude. You just want money. We are not paying.” 

I look at him, his Single Fin ball cap pointed right at the guy’s nose, his surfer’s chest pushed out ahead of him, defiance in his mirrored lenses. He told me this would probably happen. When I first got here, he explained that when the cops get a bug up their butt, they will take whatever they want, and I am not to pull off the road if I can help it, just keep driving. 

If I do get pulled over, I’m to stay close to the road, stay on the bike, not let go of Bodhi, don’t let them take my keys or see my money. I sit on the bike wondering if I should just gun it and if they’d chase me down. 

Bodhi waits, his hands clasped around my middle. The heat is thick and heavy. We are trying to get back to Kuta to catch the big South/Southwest swell. I turn the bike on. The cop behind me holds onto the back of it. I give it a little gas. Jamie looks at me. “Come on, babe, lets go.”

Part of me is worried, I know they arrest people here, I know the penalties for smoking dope in Indonesia are serious and the jails suck. And I’m here with my kid and this Kiwi dude who I barely know. We met this winter in Japan where he was guiding for Black Diamond, and I was traveling with a ski client. We’ve spent exactly nine days in each other’s company. 

It has, over those nine days, become increasingly clear to me that while we share a love of Suicidal Tendencies, Tequila shots and powder skiing, just because both of our countries speak some form of English as our native language, culturally we are about as different as you can get.

Jamie is rough and raw and visceral, and sometimes, the words he says, thick with Kiwi slang in his deep, gravely voice may as well be the Balinese Indonesian that is equally incomprehensible to me. 

I look the cop in the eye. I borrow some of Jamie’s Kiwi bravery. “Your friend said 100,000 Rupiah.” I skid the back tire a little trying to break free. 

Eventually, Jamie pulls 20,000 out of his pocket and waves it around. “Here dude. Here’s your fuckin’ money. That’s what you want. Money, eh? Here you go, Bro!” he says. The cop smoothly pockets the 20k note and suddenly the back of my bike is free, we are back on the road to Nusa Dua, the jungle whipping by on either side, the breeze from the speed cooling my sweaty back. Bodhi squeezes me. 

“How much did Jamie give him?” he asks.

In the last month,  Bodhi has changed. He has learned how to sleep on the back of the motorbike, his body leans fluidly as we cruise into the corner and the last breath of breeze hits my sweaty neck and cools me. We go exactly 347 meters before we hit traffic. 

Suddenly, its time to pay attention, we go up on the sidewalk, off the curb, around a taxi going the wrong way and head on toward a tour bus. We cut across the median and snake our way with the pulse of motorcycles and scooters around the air conditioned roadblocks of useless cars. Like grains of sand flowing past stuck boulders, like bloodcells squeezing through clogged arteries, we wend our way toward the beach. We have a babysitter tonight. 

Everyone told me not to take my kid to Kuta. “Its a crazy party town, you don’t want your kid to be there. It’s not what you want.”

So we went. Impossibly small streets clogged with tattoo shop after tattoo shop, signs for “Yoga Magic Mushroom” and “Mushroom to the Moon: Delivery!” line the streets, which are constantly under construction. Every fourth shop is a surf shop, the locals are dark and long hair’d hard bodies. They carry their surf board tucked under one arm, flip flops and no shirt, navigating the narrow streets at high speeds as though they are un breakable. 

The occasional taxi forces its way down a street barely wide enough for two scooters let alone a hoard of drunk, sunburnt Ausssies, motorbikes with surf racks, motorbikes with four and five people stacked on them and me, trying to remember to stay left, stay left stay LEFT and avoid every pothole so I don’t send my kid flying off my bike like a pogo stick sling shot. 

We pull up at the Suka Beach Inn, ten bucks a night, fan room. The bathroom, to use Jamie’s words, is grotty. The roaches don’t bother to scatter, its too hot. They just sit there, fat and defiant and stare at you. “What’s up, roomie? Got any food?”

Bodhi kicks off his flip flops. “I get the bed by the window!” he declares and flops his body across it. 

We spend the afternoon getting worked in the ocean, I get put through the laundry machine trying to get out, stuck in the impact zone and unable to duck dive my mini mow, I suffer and suffer and decide this can not be the sport for me. Bodhi stands up on every wave in the shore break and has a great time. Jamie rides his short board like a skateboarder and cant understand why I can’t figure out where to sit in the ocean. 

I sit on the sand, drained. A full-on salt water faucet runs out of my nose. I watch as they boys pull their boards up onto the sand and run back in, body surfing in the shore break until the sun is well gone, the tips of the waves stained orange. 

There is freedom here, chaos and freedom. In the midst of this Spring Break gone wrong, no boundaries, massive party town, Bodhi has found his feet, his confidence. There is something beautiful about the pulse of this place. 

Sandy and worked, sinuses and tummies full of salt water, Bodhi begs for Indonesian corn off the street vendor. We walk by Mad-e every day, and he knows Bodhi now. Made smiles at me, the beautiful easy Indonesian smile of the locals. “Hi, mom!” he says, “Mom, corn? Corn mom!?”

Bodhi laughs, “Yeah, mom, corn?” 

Of course. This is the best post-surfing food that there is. That and the Mojito that is waiting for me across the hot asphalt at Prosurf. The back of Made’s scooter is outfitted with a full grill and all the fixins. He grills up a few pices of fat sweet corn and brushes them with spices and butter. We munch greedily, corn is fourty cents. We can have our fill. 

Barefoot across the street to Prosurf, we poach the crystal clear pool, Bodhi happily trading one kind of water for another. He goes under water and feels his body float, he’s learning who he is in this place. 

Jamie takes a running leap off the balcony dive bomb platform above the bar (only in Indonesia would you be encouraged by a sign at the bar saying “Lets get drunk!” and then shown the six meter bomb platform. “Jump off, its fun!!” says the bar owner). 

Bodhi follows Jamie, this, a kid who wouldn’t put his face under water a month ago, who was afraid to pedal a bicycle because speed scared him. Now, he takes a running start, 360 grab spin, and spalshes to the bottom of the deep deep pool. He comes bobbing up like a cork, huge grin on his face. He is a surfer, now. He is finding his soul. 

Bali. All by myself. With my kid. And some friends. (Which turns out to be way better)

Bodhi and I are in Bali together. 

Ive been thinking about where to begin. Indonesia is more than I thought it would be, there is how this place smells, all cloves and incense and sticky sweet flowers, salt and sweat and bug spray. The hum of life in the narrow streets around Kuta is like Thamel in Kathmandu, but happier, there is this carless joy everywhere.

The scooter, I could write about what it was like to learn to ride a motorbike in Bali, the traffic flows like blood cells, clumping and clotting and finding ways through, up on the sidewalk, into oncoming traffic. The scooters work together to some extent, like a faster, more organic flow of traffic. I haven’t seen any road rage yet, it seems more like a game of flow and go. Bikes pull up next to you in a pack, there’s a two year old standing in front of his dad holding the handlebars, his wife behind him, nursing a baby, the groceries on the back. They smile, the boy sucks his thumb. The dad asks how old Bodhi is. The light changes. He guns the throttle and the horns begin. Careful, a man with crates of fruit and water so huge you can barely see him is going to squeeze past you and through the cars ahead. 

There are teenage girls riding sidesaddle in high heels talking on the phone. Bikes like Jamie’s are outfitted with surf racks so you can tie your board on and motor from surf break to break. Over the course of three days, I learned first to stop looking for a clutch on a scooter. Then, how to stay left. Then, that the traffic rules are more like guidelines, anyway. “You have to go, Kate. Be assertive. Don’t hesitate. If you make the choice, make it.” Jamie teaches me. I have to learn these lessons now, because we can’t get around the island if I’m not safe on the bike. 

He taught me to keep moving, move faster than the other traffic and you will actually move with it. Don’t be scared to shoot the gap, go head on, weave in and out. Be aggressive. Just like skiing bumps, think about making choices and looking way ahead, if you think about what might happen, you are moving too slowly. 

But while the scooter is thrilling, and getting my own kiddo on the back of mine and off of Jamie’s in three days, learning where our hotel is and where the cheapest food is, where the best coffee is, and how to heal bug bites and how much sunscreen we should have used (more. the answer is more), the thing that I keep coming back to, the thing that is Bali and this trip to me so far; is people.

Friends, connections, there is contentment and safety and beauty and unknown and gratitude in all of the people I am meeting. I, foolishly, thought I’d feel that way once I got where I was going. I was going to find my own way there. 

I was excited to come on this trip on my own. I had an idea about what that would mean. I wasn’t setting out to find friends, I was setting out to explore the world with Bodhi. 

But what I have found out is that exploring the world is nothing without exploring the people. And that this fixed idea of finding it my way is so incredibly myopic that had I held onto it, I might have missed so much. 

I might have missed reconnecting with Jamie, who I first met in Japan. I might have missed making friends with Lisa in the airport (also traveling to Ubud), with the SriLanken man who we shared the row with on the way to Kuala Lampour, with the three Indian women we met in Japan on the way through customs. 

This morning, I was sitting on my balcony in Suka Beach Inn, in Kuta, Bali, and thinking about how grateful I was to find connections here. And how much I thought I didn’t want to connect with anyone, that it would be somehow cheating myself out of this independent adventure. I started thinking of the connections I’m feeling, and how they grow this sense of gratitude: there is Dara, a friend of a friend, in Ubud, willing to show us around, and Prem at the Shala where we will be studying, Jamie here in Kuta, Michael who owns Breeze pizza, who has a girl who works for him who will help with Bodhi sometimes. 

I almost didn’t want to know anyone. I wanted, in some sort of rebellious and idyllic way, to strike out alone. And then I think about what I am. Human. And what that means, what I think about while I am struggling to be a better human. What is it that I tell myself, and others, when we are trying to find our way through our emotional world? 

That we aren’t alone. We aren’t meant to do this alone. Just like the motorbikes flowing together like blood cells pumping furiously, we swarm around each other, work together, and suddenly slingshot away, alone, free, independent, before coming back together. 

My life is richer because of the connections, the hearts, I find along the way. I am letting go of needing to do it alone, realizing that alone can mean independently, instead of in isolation. Together with friends and with gratitude and with connection, instead of stubbornly separate. 

I can’t seem to stay separate, anyway, even when I try, because Rama at the store across from where we eat, 9 years old, is smiling at Bodhi, connecting, because the woman selling bracelets who had a headache let me rub her neck and now I have a present from her on my arm, because on the first day here, I was willing to follow Jamie through traffic into the mountains to the sea cliffs. Bodhi found bliss in a limey cave because of that. 

I probably would have spent the first three days stepping carefully and slowly out on my own, making slightly larger and larger forays away from the sanctity of the known space of my hotel room, if I hadn’t been willing to let go of my idea of how I should do this trip, and be like a motorbike in the alleys of Kuta. Flowing with it. 

Sneak Peek! Aspen Academy Training News Volume 2, Issue 2

Skier drawing by William Hamilton For more ACL information visit vermontskisafety.com

Finding the Goods in Revelstoke, BC.

Revelstoke Mountain Resort. The goods.

I just got back from the amazing and beautiful tiny mountain town of Revelstoke B.C. where I pretty much got to live the dream. I've been traveling more and more with private ski clients, and I love it. 

My client ripping up the beautiful chalk on Critical Path.

I'm based out of Aspen Mountain, and my incredible boss, Andy Docken works hard to build bridges industry wide. He reaches out on behalf of my client to the ski school that we'd like to visit, and so far, it has been an amazing and succesfull experience. 

The thing that's wonderful about it is that everyone wins! My clients still ski Aspen, in fact, they pride themselves as being "Aspen Skiers" but they also get to experience what it's like to ski all over the world. The resorts we visit are stoked to have us experience their hotels and restaraunts, my clients are stoked to get to keep the same instructor and continue uninterrupted on their path to skiing glory. 

So far, everywhere we've gone, the host mountain has been incredibly welcoming and helpful, and Revelstoke was perhaps on the top of that list. 

Rare to see the base from the top because its most often just PUKING snow.  

Established in 2007, its the only ski area in North America with Heli, Cat and Lift right out of the base operations. With almost 6000 vertical top to bottom and legendary BC light and fluffy champagne powder, we were in heaven. Revelstoke gets 40-60 feet of annual snowfall, the height of a 4 story building, and has access to incredible back country terrain.

In bounds, the North Bowl offers some SPECTACULAR steeps and adventure skiing, but the best part was all the glades! I've never been ANYWHERE with so much beautifully gladed tree skiing. A huge amount of it  is intermediate level tree skiing, which is wonderful to practice in before you go out and get after it on the cat or in the heli. Its all over the mountain, so you can ski trees off of any chair. 

The north bowl, the "easy" way down. Wide open and beautiful. Unfortunately, as you can see, its really crowded there...

Another amazing feature of all the glades is that while individual runs aren't labeled in them, they are well defined, so you know you aren't going to suddenly go off of a cliff while you are playing in the trees. As a guide on a new mountain, with my job to keep my client safe while he's learning and having fun, this place was perfect for that experience. 

All I could think while I was there was, oh my goodness, I'm in Ethan and Bodhi heaven, its just one giant tree trail of doom. 

The mountain is SO LONG that it's exhausting to ski. And so we skied ourselves into the ground accidentally almost every day, getting our legs ready for the heli. We practiced all the tactics we'd need for powder without actually skiing powder, we practiced in the bumps and negotiating trees. 

In the Revelstoke instructor coat, at the top of the aptly named Stoke Chair.

My client got his new Folsom Custom skis mounted up by Rowland, the manager at the on mountain Revy Repair shop, and he did a brilliant job. After seeing that, I handed over my brand spankin' new Blizzard Bodacious skis to him. He slapped down a pair of Marker Jester Pros on those bad boys, and we headed in to town for sushi. We were going heli skiing the next day, and I couldn't wait.

Named after the toughest Bull in Rodeo, retired by the PCA because it was too dangerous to ride, these skis are UNREAL. I've liked skis before. I'm in love with these. Head over heels. Whose gonna ride Bodacious? (I AM!)

The food in Revelstoke is great and getting better. There's a steakhouse, a great sushi place (but ask for them to go easy on the mayo), a couple of wonderful coffee shops, and some affordable bed and breakfasts that are just minutes from the main hill.

On mountain, there's the Rockford Wok and Grill, which is where we ate most nights, which was surprisingly good, and LaBaguette, one of the favorite breakfast and coffee places we've found anywhere. (They also cater the heli and cat lunches). 

Above the clouds on Stoke.

We stayed on mountain at the Sutton Place hotel, which is new and has some GREAT ski and stay packages. The service was phenomenal, its well staffed and they handled a crazy Christmas rush with ease. I was impressed. I've definitely been to places where, when every single room is full, the place goes into chaos. With the Swatch Freeride Tour heading into town, based out of the Sutton, I was amazed at how we still felt like their most important guest, and from what I heard in the hot tub, so did every other guest who stayed there. Oh yeah, and they have free yoga for skiers every day at the hotel, about a 1 minute walk from the gondi. 

While its definitely a Skier's Mountain, the service is what you'd expect from a resort like Deer Valley, famous for their ability to cater to the guest. At Revelstoke, they have a ski valet standing there as you get off the gondola to take your skis to your ski locker for you. And then they hand you coffee or hot chocolate. Really. This place rules. 

I'm not kidding. Its called Kill the Banker.

Plus, they have a run under the gondi called Kill the Banker. (Right? It just keeps getting better...) That's because when the investors were coming, they thought it would be a great place to take them down and the poor guy apparently thought he was going to die, and promptly invested. Its gnarly. 

A little adventure skiing on your way out of the North Bowl.

The best part was our interaction with the ROC, the Revelstoke Outdoor Center. The ski school director, Dan and his assistant director, Ian, were amazing, they helped get us all set up so I could teach on their mountain, and Amy and James in the front office were wrangling everything from lessons to heli trips. They were so welcoming, we felt like part of the family right off the bat. We got outfitted and oriented right away, got on the waiting list for the cat and booked our Heli day. (Which I'll tell you more about in the next post...)

The town, the vistas, are just spectacular.

Overall, I can't say enough about the town of Revelstoke, the mountain itself, the operations, the food, the staff... If you are craving some amazing BC powder in a fantastic resort, look no further. Revelstoke is the place to go. 

You hereby have permission to forgive yourself.

I was working with some pros the other day in early season training, and we were talking about the idea of meeting someone where they needed to be met.

One of the people in the clinic, (we'll call him Fred, but that's not his name) has been teaching on Aspen Mountain for almost forty years. He has a depth of experience with customers that is awesome, he builds relationships beautifully, he is well respected in the ski school.

One day, about twenty five years ago, Fred had a customer whom he couldn't connect with. He tried several different things, and none of them seemed to work. He passed the client on to another pro, who was very successful with her.

Rather than pointing a finger endlessly, look in the mirror, find the lesson.

Since that time, Fred has wondered what went wrong. He has been carrying forward a feeling of guilt at not being able to connect well with this guest. He failed in his attempt to build a relationship with her, and it has been haunting him.

In the clinic, Fred realized that he hadn't been able to let his client have as much control over their relationship as she wanted, and so she wasn't able to walk toward him. He couldn't see where she needed to be met.

And that's okay.

Dangit.

Over the next couple of days, I realized that there was a common theme emerging here. Ski instructors are a group of incredibly dedicated, talented pros. They work hard, they love their clients, they give their clients everything they have to ensure a great lesson experience.

When it doesn't work out, it hurts. The instructor feels like they have failed. They feel like they are wanting for some reason.

In this moment, you have choice. You can choose to see the lesson you need to learn, and take it, and grow from it, or you can take your "failure" and push it in front of you from that moment forward.

That's called letting your story define you. Lots of times we do this because we feel obligated to acknowledge our lack. We don't want to put down the mistake we made because we need other people to know that we know we made a mistake, and we are truly sorry.

The problem with pushing your story in front of you, and letting it define you from that moment forward is that it keeps people from seeing you, and it keeps you from growing. You are stuck. Behind this moment in which you didn't behave the way you wish you had. That's a heavy burden, and it doesn't help you.

If, instead, you are willing to look at that moment, and search for the lesson, (perhaps in Fred's case it would have been "Look carefully at what she needs in order for her to be able to hear me. Decide if I'm willing to give it or not."), be willing to "take the hit" of ownership and accountability. This will sting for a moment, maybe even for a few days.

My story defines me, and I need you to tell me I'm okay.

But if, at the same time, you can thank yourself for being willing to look honestly at what you can change in order to do a better job next time, and truly embody that moment, let that lesson shape your future behavior, you can grow.

And the act of being willing to learn can give you permission to forgive yourself. "I wish I had done that differently. But I didn't. The lesson is X. From now on, I will be more cognoscente of X when it shows up."

If you can look at guilt as your conscious asking you to learn the lesson, once you have agreed to learn it, you can let go of guilt, shame, and wishing. You can fold your growth into your understanding of who you are and how you function, and you don't have to push your story ahead of you, being defined by your mistake forever.

When we push our stories ahead of us, let our stories define us, we ask everyone in our sphere to continually re-define us so that we might take the power away from our own self judgement. We build a need for constant contradiction of that judgement, in order to feel good about ourselves.

Unfortunately, what this does is make the guilt feel deeper, feel secret, and we begin to feel like a fraud. Even if it was a mistake that was only made once, or made many times, but now we have made a change in our behavior, having people validate that we are good, when we secretly think we are bad makes the problem worse.

We begin to rely on the feedback from others as our only compass of our self worth, but we don't actually believe it is valid and true, so no matter how many validations we get, we are left wanting.

How, then, do we heal?

That's better. Be a good parent to yourself. Take the lesson and live again.

By accepting who we are, and what our experience was and is in this moment. It is okay that you had a learning experience. It is okay if you don't feel great in that moment. You are allowed to go through the spectrum of emotions, but once you have found your lesson, forgive yourself. Let go of your need to feel guilt, to cary your story forward. Let the mistake go, like a helium balloon, floating up into the sky. Keep the lesson. Lose the guilt. Grow.

What's next for Kate?

Three days before 2012 Alpine Team Tryouts. What a ride. 

I've been wondering that myself. And I've made a decision. For the last three months, I've been working with my little sister, Liat, and my team from Skiing in the Shower trying to figure out, what is the next step? And then, how do I take the next step?

The first thing was to figure out what it is that I want to do, simply. What am I passionate about? What is it that I do best, that I love doing most?

It turns out it is personal journey and relationship building! (Shocking I know.) Understanding interpersonal communications and helping people identify what is keeping them from moving forward. How to see obstacles both internal, in our understanding of ourselves, and external, in our understanding of others and how we fit in to, and define the relationship.

My challenge (as you can see from the last paragraph) is a verbosity issue. I need focus and distillation. Not just with the information, but with my approach to doing it as a business.

Now what?

I realized this personal growth thingy was my bag a few years ago, but I didn't really know how to package it. giving talks here and there, writing proposals and clinics, but it wasn't quite gelling. Because it wasn't sorted into small, sticky clumps.

I spent about six years writing from a personal perspective, which taught me a lot about my own journey.  This, in turn, made me realize that my journey, fundamentally, is the same as everyone else's. We all want to know where we fit in and how to feel safe, secure, and happy while growing and contributing something meaningful.

Lots of people teach this, and talk about this. What sets me aside? Is there room for another teacher in the personal growth field? This path is rife with mine fields of inauthenticity and ego. Ew. How to navigate?

Enter my INSPIRATIONALLY organized surprise teacher, (my little sister). I taught her how to stop spilling her milk, and she is teaching me how to organize my thoughts and beliefs in a way that holds true to my core values. She is helping me before we even get to talks, books, blog posts and eBooks, with the foundation. Who am I? What do I bring? Who is my audience? How do I reach them? What am I helping them with? What's the best way to deliver the message? I'm so excited, I've never gone this route before.

This is a fun and scary challenge for me, I've lived in a first draft world for a long time. I've lived from passion, which has been a great teacher. I'm a putter out of fires and a plate spinner. But mostly because I didn't plan so that I wouldn't have fires to put out. Now, I'm learning new skills and moving into strange, new, uncharted territory of information wrangling, which requires a much broader-spectrum vision, patience, persistence, and a lot of introspection.

I wondered if I should shut down Skiing in the Shower, now that the six year experiment is over. Is it a distraction now?  Does it take me away from my goal of developing this material into something concrete and deliverable? I don't think so. Skiing in the Shower is one of my favorite places to connect with people who are on their own journey. Its my reality. Its my truth. I'm grateful to go at it, embark on my unsure journey, knowing I'm not alone. I cherish your comments, your stories, and your growth.

I'm so glad to know you are there, on your journey, while I'm here, on mine. 

So I have decided to keep Skiing in the Shower going, as a personal blog about the experiences I have and the lessons I learn as I take this next journey.  I have some friends who worry that being so personal might be detrimental. But I think its a fundamental truth of who I am, I like to work things out out loud, writing helps me do that. And its given me the gift of a relationship with a likeminded community. It keeps me facing the honest truths, it keeps me accountable. I wouldn't let that go for anything. We started this journey together. Lets not chicken out, now.

There will be a new website and blog that center around my consulting business, which I'm tentatively calling "Making the Jump" (I'm going to say that's it's working title, its a bit "corp speak" for me. If anyone has another idea, let me know...)

So here we go, again, gentle reader. Another ski season is upon us, and this year I have a different challenge, a different focus. I've been invited to present some materials on Trust Building for the Ski Company, and other fun topics, and so my focus isn to sift through my material with clarity, extrude it into its foundational pieces, and split it into digestible, easy to understand chunks that can be understood easily and taught by anyone.

I am building a business, from the ground up, new mission, new biz plan, new financials, new materials, new talks, new books, and it all starts with a clear idea of my brand, a clear strategy to spread that brand identity, and an open heart to my teachers while I'm learning new skills.

Its funny, I've owned a business before (several actually), and I've learned a lot each time. But I always have gone at it from a place of passion, with planning happening almost in real time. I function well under a heavy deadline. But that's not a recipe for longevity.

This time, I ALMOST did the same thing I often do, (because I'm eager and excited) but I've decided to open my ears and find my leverage points. So. Liat, Weems, Jonathan, Andy, Kurt, Peter, Megan... I'm listening.  And I'm so grateful to be launching from the ski industry, for all the lessons and mentors I've had to this point, and all the ones to come in the future.

Next Tuesday's blog post: Being willing to learn your lesson. (Eat your peas!)

I loved this business, I had it in Pasadena for about eight months. It was called Prelasser, the Relaxing Bath. All passion, no planning. Very soothing. A vision of what it could turn into without a plan for how to get there.  

Thanks for coming along on the journey!

Make a Different Choice.

This morning, I ran into a friend of mine. She is feeling sad and stressed. She made a big life decision to move to Aspen and try something adventurous and difficult. (She's in the wellness industry).

Its not working out as well as she had imagined. She imagined that coming here by invitation, she would have a safe space to land, to plant roots and begin to forge relationships and grow.

I'm kind of frustrated with you, but I can't show you how I really feel... 

Aspen is a tough place. Its expensive, its a super small town with an international and nomadic population. The wellness industry is saturated here. There are SO many practitioners of all kinds of wellness here, and many of that huge population are also really talented at what they do. Because of that it takes a REALLY long time, even if you are super talented, to make a living with steady clientele, even if you work at it full time.

What I heard this morning was that the situation was frustrating, my friend felt trapped in a toxic situation with no way out. There are relationship triangles and drama all over the space in which she assumed would be safe. I was listening to her and thinking that everyone who is in that situation with her probably feels the same way.

And this happens in every industry. This happens in so many work places. This happens in families and in relationships and on teams.

And I think it comes from a need for each of us to feel right, to feel vindicated, to feel important, to see our place. To take and own our place, to guard our place, in order to feel safe.

Passive aggressive behavior is everywhere, its hard to know when we are doing it, its hard to know when we have bought into it. Its hard to know when we are victims of it. Its hard to know that the choice to not be a victim lies with us, not with the person who is "doing that to us."

The problem is that guarding ourselves and our emotional space as our primary motivator makes OTHERS feel unsafe, so we move further away from each other, making all of us wary and protective. This is part of the toxic cycle.

It can be compounded in situations where the person in the position of authority knows enough about how they SHOULD relate to speak out of both sides of their mouth. In the wellness industry, it can be confusing and painful for someone you work with to say "Love and Light" to your face, and speak behind your back at the same time.

My friend felt stuck. She feels like she is not in a position where she has or can find an ally. She is hanging on while people run rampant with the roles they have chosen: Martyr, Dictator, Earnest Worker, Frustratingly Neutral and Beatific.

I suddenly saw a pattern that I recognized from my life, from a long time ago. As I heard her talk, I thought about how many times I had taken on someone else's drama as my own, because their role dictated that I must, in order to be in a relationship with them. I was asked to merge completely with them in order to exist. And I did, not seeing another option. And I would feel stuck, and un heard, and like I had no value, even though I was working hard and giving all I had.

It took a long time for me to see that the only person who had the power to change that situation was me. I could choose to buy into the story that each of those people were insisting was reality, and truth, and have my own life's path ruled by it, handing all my power for happiness and peace to them.  Or, I could choose to see that their story was THEIR story. And mine was my own to make.

In this realization, you have choice. You can choose to confront. You can choose to get a mediator. You can choose to distance, you can choose to remove yourself completely. All of these choices have consequence.

Once, when I felt like I was stuck in this situation, I was care taking a friend who I had a huge amount of love in my heart for. This was a long time ago when I lived in Pasadena. He lived with me and my husband at the time, and he was suicidal. I cared about him, and so I felt obligated to give everything I had to keep him alive.

I see you. I see you as separate from me. I care for you. But I also care for me. 

Eventually, I felt trapped. Because I knew that I had given more than I had to give, and we were at a stalemate. He was super depressed and suffering, but not killing himself. If I stopped working, he would die, because no one else was stepping up. I felt like stopping giving all I had was tantamount to killing him. Consequently, neither of us had lives. We were captives of each other's stories.

One day, a therapist who I was working with said to me, "What's the worst thing that could happen? He could kill himself, right? What if you let him, Kate. What if you let that be his decision?"

I hated her for that in that moment. How could I let him kill himself? How could I allow him to take responsibility for his own health and happiness?

It took a long time to understand what she meant, and why she was right. It wasn't my job, or place, to STOP him, to save him, to change him. I can choose to not be stuck in that role. Because I am CHOOSING that role. It doesn't change how much I care about him, it doesn't change how much I hope he learns to find a path out of his crushing sadness.

But even thought the consequences of making a different decision seem dire, there is life on the other side of that courageous, compassionate choice. I needed to leave space for him to be right. I needed to let him decide that life was too hard if he wanted to.

What I COULD offer was that if he wanted to chose another path, I would be there, next to him, if he reached out for me. This was a choice that I could NOT see from inside the trauma, having abdicated my ability to have my own life to his drama and trauma.

Its not about disengaging and feeling like I am more important than he is, or believing my own story as much as he is believing his. Its about letting go of imperatives brought on by thoughtless imposition of personal crisis. You can still love someone who doesn't know how to let go of the thing that is driving them, the person who is a victim of their programming. This includes people who believe they have been wronged and need to cary that hurt in front of them like a shield or a banner on the field of war.

"I have been wounded, so before anyone goes anywhere, I need to hear from all of you how terribly sorry you are for me." If the people get this message, it feeds that toxic need, and the message on the banner turns into: "I really like it when everyone is gathered around me consoling me and telling me how wrong it was that I was hurt. It makes me feel valued and important. To be my friend, to work for me, or to share space with me, you need to do this for me, or I can't see you."

Take a moment to honor where YOU are, feel your feelings, and then pick your head up and try to see it differently. You might, in the process of taking back your peace, discover that you are worth caring for, and that the person who can do that most effectively, is you. Surprisingly enough, you will teach other people in your life that you are worth treating well, when you treat yourself well. Be patient, its hard to learn how to do this.
 

I hugged my friend today, the people she is working with are carrying their banners, and she feels she must capitulate, they hold all the power of the business, let alone asking her to sacrifice her personal power on the altar of their self-esteem.

I feel horrible for her, the pain, the betrayal, the confusion, she is lost. I asked her if she had to stay, if being with that group of people was worth the money she was making. Could she make a different choice? Could she see that taking her power back, letting their stories be their stories, separate from her, was indeed a choice?

I don't know if she could. It might have sounded as harsh as they day my therapist asked me to consider letting my friend die.

But that's how crisis feels. It feels desperate, and desperation narrows our field of vision, we only see thoughts like "run" and "protect" and "lick wounds". That is a dark, small world. Pick your head up, friends. There is choice on the other side. Its so hard to get there, its exhausting.

But, ultimately, it lets you see the people around you for what they are, people. People who are struggling, some consciously, some unconsciously, with their understanding of their worth and their place in the world. You have your own struggle. Focus on that, let their stories be theirs, honor their struggle and their pain, have comparison for them, but your peace? Your power? That belongs to you. And if you feel powerless, perhaps the culprit is not the person who "took" your power. But the person who gave their power away in the first place. You.

Short Hiatus (in case that wasn't obvious...)

Hello, gentle reader! I think of you all the time, and I think of so many things I'd like to share with you. Here's a brief update from the land of Kate...

I learned to love to climb on my bike this summer!

On the last day of the biking season, I was ripping around with a bunch of my friends, riding fast and having fun, and I wiped out on the in run to a jump (I wasn't even on the jump yet), and I broke three ribs in six places.

Because of that, I didn't go to Whistler as planned. Second year in a row that a fall trip has been cancelled! Last year, Kurt and I were to go to Ushuia to train and I got neck surgery instead.

I'm six weeks out from breaking myself, and I'm healing nicely. Ribs take a long time, those of you who have been reading for a while may recall about four years ago when I broke a bunch of ribs skateboarding with my favorite 13 year old at the time. (Can he really be 16 now?? Unreal. Driving.)

In the meantime, it has been a very tough six weeks. There are some things that I can not share with you that have been difficult to go through. The result of facing these things, and facing them alone, was that I was not very kind to myself. It is in those moments, when I am fighting for myself, for my sanity, for some grace, that I want to share with you.

Those moments are so hard, and I know that we all experience them. Its the reality of our human struggle that is interesting to me, the small triumphs that make me believe there is a future worth having.

HOWEVER, I haven't been writing my blog because I have been writing furiously almost every day, and my novel is almost finished!!

I picked up an agent at Aspen's Summer Words festival, and I'm very excited to deliver the manuscript to her in the next two weeks.

SO. My blog is on hiatus until I finish this draft of the novel, and I make a little cash. Being out of work for six weeks was BRUTAL on my bank account, but huzzah huzzah, I had saved up enough that I came through it okay with a little help from my sister.

(Whom I will, one day, take to Fiji on a glorious Stella Got Her Groove back vacation. She deserves it.)

In the mean time, my younger sister has been traveling all over, from California, to Israel, to Argentina this summer, and we all miss her terribly, but she is doing amazing things as well. She has become my model for project planning and execution. This girl has got her shit together, let me tell you.

When she gets back, we are going to sit down and look at how to organize my writing better so that I can stay in touch with you all on a more regular basis, and our conversations (which happen mostly by email or Facebook) can be more open to the general public.

My older sister, Beth, wrapped a movie and went back to her beautiful little nest in Topanga canyon. I'm going to visit her on on the 27th, and we are going to see the Book of Mormon, which I'm really excited about!

The boys are doing well, they were both horribly sick, the worst I've seen them, but they are hale and hardy again. They are devouring the Rick Riorden stories voraciously, reading and re-reading the series over and over. The books are falling apart. Ethan is in Arches with his Fifth grade class, and Bodhi is swimming his way back through a mountain of make up work.

I was accepted to study at the Ashtanga Institue in Mysore, India, for yoga, and I had been planning on going in November. Because of my broken ribs, I am unable to go (the practice is incredibly demanding), so I have rescheduled that trip for April of 2013. I hope to take Bodhi out of school and bring him with me. We will be in India from April through June, where Bodhi will attend a local school.

So. In the meantime, ski season is fast approaching, plans are being made, Christmas dates are being vied for, and I have started working in the training department helping make some whiteboard animations.

Once again, I'm fairly frustrated at my lack of traction, I'm tired of being on such a tight budget in the off season. Breaking my ribs didn't help, and I did better this time than in the past, but I'm ready for a change. Its been a long time coming.

Having no "Big Goal" like the tryouts imminently looming ahead has left me without my compass, which isn't a bad thing. People have asked me if I'm going to try out again, and I'm not sure. I'm open to the idea. But this year I think is a year of recovery, it was such an intense journey. I'm looking forward to going to Japan with a client and friend of mine, I'm looking forward to working hard in the training department, helping others develop their journey.

I wish I could have gone to India first before this season, and come back ripped and ready to rock. But, again, breaking my ribs gave me a couple of gifts, time to write, time to face the difficulties I was going through without running away from them, time to think, time to be with my kids.

Its time to stick my paddle in the water and steer this boat... Thanks for your patience, and for sticking with me through spotty posting. You are in my heart, gentle reader, and I'll stay in touch. As soon as I finish the book, this month, I'll begin posting regularly again.

Much love and grace on YOUR journey!

Kate

The day the Tail Whip came to town.

I really never thought I'd actually be able to do it. At the beginning of the mountain biking season, I had a couple of goals that I said out loud. I would like to pedal enough that I learned if I could like pedaling or not. I would like to ride a road bike up independence pass, I would like to commute to work on my bike at least once.

I want to learn how to corner, squash and scrub, I want to learn to ride clippless and ride more xc so that I can take an xc ride with my friends without them wanting to strangle me. I want to learn to roll a rock drop. Ride a rock garden, and go off the the medium drop in the fruit bowl.

And one day, I wish I could go off the green fruit bowl itself, and throw a big ole gnarly whip on my bike. And ride skinny bridges high off the ground.

Those last three, those are pipe dreams for me. At 40, with a fused neck and only two summers on a bike, riding at that level is really not a reality. So I watch it in the movies, and I fall asleep to Red Bull TV World championships DH race video, and I have a blast riding my bike.

And I kind of suck at riding a bike. About five years ago, you will recall, I fell UP Smuggler mountain. The only reason I won the DH races all summer last year was because I was one of the only women racing! Now all the girls I taught intro to jumping to last year (who are in their 20s and 30s) are kicking my butt. (And I kind of love that. That means I did my job.)

Last week, in Crested Butte, I pushed my bike up the ROAD on the way to the 401 trailhead. (But I rode about 30 miles in clip less shoes and didn't eat shit once, so CHECK and CHECK off some of the seasons goals! Boo yeah! Hike a bike is part of Mountain Bike and I aint afraid to push that sucker uphill!)

In other news, I was on that trip with Kurt, who was riding one handed the whole time and probably had time for lunch and a latte after every switchback... I didn't mind pushing as long as he didn't' mind that I was pushing, so onward we rolled, and I felt AMAZING when we got back to town, so CHECK CHECK, I like to pedal, and I feel like I can ride with my friends and only torture them somewhat.

Then I hoped in my car and drove to Steamboat all by my lonesome to ride with my great friend BT. You remember him from epic cat skiing of doom last winter in Whistler. He builds trails for Gravity Logic and he was in Colorado for a short time working. I jumped at the chance to go play with him, we always have a great time. BT was working so we didn't ride a huge number of laps, but I was out on a road trip on my own, making new friends and riding in a new place.

I loved meeting the trail crew and seeing their passion for how fun the trail would be when it was ridden in, and it was awesome to meet Lana, the only girl on the trail crew. She had an amazingly sunny disposition, so happy to be working outdoors. So psyched to learn to ride her bike even faster. (Apparently, she rips). The energy was so good, I felt inspired, free, and happy.

I haven't done that in biking yet, just taken off to go ride and visit and just see what happened. It felt really really good. Expansive. Happy. While I was there, I started tipping my bike over with more authority, keeping my knees more open, twisting down into the turn more, screwing my body down into the bike.

Something was changing. In me, in my riding.

When we got back, I found suddenly I didn't really care about racing right now. I had coached Michelle a little, and I really enjoyed watching her become blisteringly fast. I wasn't ready to ride that fast, and I was really stoked to see her take that leap. I wanted to keep practicing my cornering so that WHEN I rode that fast (one day, maybe), I would feel solid and happy whipping around the berms.

Riding that fast to try to win while putting my body at risk was not on my list of things to do. I just didn't have the skill set to hold the turn and feel really good in it at that speed. I needed to change something technically first. And that change might never come. And I had accepted that.

I taught a lot and didn't free ride that much because I was doing massage every afternoon and I needed to save my hands and my neck, both of which get tired from riding. I spent all the time that I was riding trying to demonstrate good cornering. Consequently, my patterns in my cornering changed.

Then I had a couple of jump lessons in a row, and suddenly all the work we had been doing in cornering on body position and my understanding of how to push my feet into the turn, to snap and bump the bike started translating into understanding the trajectory of the bike in the air so much better. I could finally begin to FEEL when to push my feet into the face, how to adjust the flight of the bike, at speed. With less guessing and more instinct. With less "Oh shit I hope I'm right" and more "wheeeee".

Now the only problem I'm having is I'm starting to overshoot the jumps and my cornering still isn't quite... I know that one of the solutions for overshooting the jump is to scrub or whip. But I just really don't think, even though its the next step, and its time to learn it, that I'm ready or really even capable.

And then I started riding with Ryan and Dean. I met them on the trail at Snowmass, Ryan was riding in a big pack. A couple of them split off and joined us, a little bike school group rolling, but not ripping. Mostly because they were waiting for me.

Ryan took off, Dean followed, and, tired of waiting in the back of the pack because I knew I was slowest, I jumped in. I hoped I could ride fast enough to let the guys behind me have a good time, not be held up, and to follow someone who I'd never ridden with before and see what the difference was.

Right off the bat, we were rolling faster than I usually do. I figured "Oh well, they are going to drop me and I'm going to be riding alone. But I'm gonna do my best to hang on and follow his line." Being dropped and riding alone is fine, and can be really fun, but there is something amazing about ripping along with a group of people.

Its hard to see what other people are doing on a DH trail, you have to stay fairly close, and manage your own flight through the berms and jumps while trying to watch the person in front of you do it well.

But something happened. They didn't drop me. Either Ryan was waiting up for me a bit, or I was rolling faster, or some combination of both, but I wasn't completely dropped. I started following Dean's line.

"Early and High", I always tell my students. "That gives you more time in the turn". And it does. But what I had failed to realize is that the faster you are going, the earlier and higher you have to enter. I never even SAW the line that Dean was taking before I rode behind him. It never occurred to me to start my turn THERE.

Suddenly, I didn't feel like I was going to slide up the berm and out of the turn. I was able to tip the bike more, drop into the turn further, enjoy the sensation of the force pulling me into my bike without worrying if I could handle it and hold the line. I had time to dip my foot and push on the up bar. I was RIDING!

Over the next couple of days, I practiced at speed more. This morning, I ran into Job, an amazing rider from Brazil who can throw his bike around with unbelievable athleticism. He's also super easy going and encouraging. Last year, I taught his girlfriend how to ride downhill, and we had a blast.

Waiting at the water cooler for Ryan to get to the top, Job and I started talking about whips and scrubs. "You just take your inside foot and push the bike like that." He showed me.

"Ohhh!" I said, as though I was going to try it. I really want to learn to do this, but I really just don't think I have the skill level for it. I asked all the questions I had, because I really do want to learn, but I think more so that I can help coach people who want to do it than because I ever thought I could do it myself.

We talked about the pattern that the bars make in the air, how you bring the bike back around by moving your head. We talked about how you counter steer into it off the lip of the jump, how important it is to try it in both directions.

Ryan came up, and suddenly we were a posse of six or so. I wasn't hanging off the back. I was third from the back, kinda almost keeping up, but not really. The boys up front were rolling pretty casually, it was Job's warm up run. I was pinning it, but I never felt loose, for some reason, riding on the shops 2012 Giant Glory (I destroyed my front fork jumping my old Slayer and don't have the $700 to fix it) I felt like I was on a cush ride that just wanted to help me out.

Up at these speeds, the bike actually feels much more stable, and now that something has clicked in my cornering (LINE CHOICE, thanks, Dean!), I feel like I'm just rolling along, like I can play, not like I'm holding on for life and praying that I don't fuck it up.

The next lap, we are lined up at the hay bales at the top of Valhalla, and Job says, just before we roll out, "Hey Kate, lets work on those Whips, okay?'

Really? I was going to just work on them in my mind and never really try it until I went to a Whip Clinic in Whistler one day and sucked at it under the watchful eye of a trained coach. I was putting it off.

Mostly because I hadn't talked to anyone who could voice a concise understanding of the steps one could take to learn this in a safe progression. I was pretty sure I was going to whip the bike come down sideways, jackknife the handlebars and bury myself in a broken heap in the dirt.

Stay positive. Thats something else I tell my students a lot...

Apparently, Job thought I had the skill to do this, and hey, we've taken all of one lap together, who am I to argue with him about my skill and his ability to evaluate it?

(By the way, this is also how I broke four ribs three summers ago. Learning how to drop into the big bowl on a skateboard because a 13 year old told me I could do it. (To be fair, I trust this 13 year old, he has pretty good judgement)). (Side note, don't ever get the flu after you break your ribs, Throwing up sucks.)

Now, with a fused neck and healed ribs, I've been trying to be more adult. I walked through a lot of Psycho Rocks at Crested Butte, unwilling to take a fall with consequences like that. On the other hand, I had ridden all the little rock gardens with good energy and I felt solid helping the tire over the back side of the rocks while dropping down. Things were changing... maybe?

Also on the other hand, I had surprised myself at Steamboat, rolling along a skinny and dropping about  6 feet onto a bridge. I surprised myself again rolling down a steep rock drop. (Oh wow, CHECK AND CHECK off my seasons goals! Can this really be happening??) And then, who knew, CHECK on one I didn't even know I could aspire to; take a bike road trip and ride with a bunch of people I don't know just for fun. Hang with the group. Try hard stuff and pull it off. Make new friends who love to bike.  (Hi, Holly! We miss you guys!). (The hot tub incident and its ensuing late start consequences the next day were NOT on my list by the way...)

"Do you want me to follow you?" I asked Job, thinking he was going to say, "No, just work on your whips." "Yes. Follow me." He let the rest of the guys pull out and we hung off the back. Am I really going to do this?

We railed through the berms and pulled off at the top of the jump portion of the run. "Try this on these step-downs, you will have success here."

He said it with so much certainty that it just seemed rude not to try it.  And what the heck, we were not going that fast. Yet.

He dropped and whipped.

I dropped and scooted the tail of the bike to the side about three inches. Step-up, he throws a huge whip.

I follow him off of it and surprise myself. The bike goes out, i look and pull and it comes back under me. Step down. No time, wall ride. Im thinking about the whip so much that the corner takes care of itself and we are rolling at a comfy pace that makes the bike suck up the trail like I've never felt before.

Through the second set of berms, snap through the chicaine and then: jump line. These jumps are regular enough and far enough apart that I want to try it again. Mini whip on the table top, choke on the drop, straight air on the step up. Last chance. There's a big step down coming with a great landing and the group is waiting on the road. Kodak courage. I push the bike out from under me and everything slows down.

I have plenty of time. The bike is floating through the air, stalling, floating out to the side. I push the bar over and down, thinking about putting my knee across the frame. I'm not there by a long shot, but the action makes the bike do the strangest thing. It tips over sideways as the bars float over and suddenly, I'm riding in three dimensions in a way I never thought I'd experience.

I push the bars down in space as I crest the apex of the arc, and the bike floats up. I turn my head back to the trail and the bike follows. The landing falls away just perfectly and I land, SQUISH, two tires at the same time at the bottom of the transition.

I can whip.

I, me, nearly 41 years old and who fell UP Smuggler mountain, today went 34.8 miles per hour at some point on that ride and whipped the crap out of that bike.

Now, just like everyone who gets a teeny tiny bit of air on their skis for the first time feels like they went huge, I'm sure that my whip has a LONG way to go. The bike is probably not going that far up, that far out, and I'm probably not landing truly straight yet.

But I feel it. and out of those 55 jumps, I got to practice about 10 whips. And on the next lap, probably 30. And out of those 40 attempts, there were three that felt like time stopped and space was there to play with.

Like the rules of gravity and force still existed, but I could experience riding my bike at a right angle to the mountain and feel as though gravity applied in all directions, sucking my tires down into the earth when I was cornering. And when I was airborne, it felt like everything was timeless and slow and smooth.

And then I wanted more time up there, so I adjusted bow I was hitting the face of the jump with my feet, and suddenly I went from passively guessing to some beginning of kinesthetic understanding of when to push with my feet, the bike was getting so high in the air, I had all the time I wanted.

Six more days to practice flying. Six more days to ride Snowmass.

Don't let it pass you by!