Here I am. Standing at the top of a p-r-e-t-t-y pitched slope. By my calculations, it is, at least, a good 45-degree gradient. It will require some pretty fast turns to get out of the “hairy” zone before the run becomes more tranquila. I stop to take a deep breath of the clean, thin Andean air. Above me, the eternal snow of Aconcagua, the highest peak in South America, gleams in the blinding sunlight. I glance towards the beautiful Laguna del Inca, hundreds of meters below, frozen solid from the winter chill. Below, Portillo’s lodge looks miniature. A tiny splotch of yellow on a white landscape canvas contoured with chiseled granite mountains and an azure sky. There’s only silence, the crunch of snow, and the occasional hollow echo of a truck making its way up the hairpin curves of Route 60 towards the Argentine border, only miles away.

I am contemplating my current predicament and the chain of decisions that led me to this exact place, moment, and experience. After a ten-year hiatus from the canchas, ski runs, here I back. Yesterday after arriving at Portillo, I strapped on my parabolic skis and did a couple touch-and-go runs on the bunny slopes before I found that blessed groove. Ahh yes, that feel of skiing. The shush of the snow, the sensation of cruising, pure unadulterated fun. As I moved to the intermediate runs, I tapped back into that timelessness of the sport–fully living and being present in the moment and completey in Mother Nature.

I had learned to ski as a kid at 12 and quickly fell in love with it. A potent, addictive combination of nature, adrenaline, speed, and exercise, I used to dream about living in Colorado or someday visiting Chile to ski in summer (how weird would that be?!). Oddly, when I finally moved to Santiago in 2001, only an hour from serious mountains, I stopped skiing. I made lots of excuses. Training for a marathon, not wanting to strain my muscles for ashtanga yoga, the gym is a better workout, yadayadayada. Excuses, excuses. It wasn’t those reasons. I knew why.

Fear. That freaking four-letter word.

My previous experience skiing in Chile was a gray day at El Colorado. At some point in the afternoon, crappy weather set in. As visibility worsened, I knew I had to get off the mountain.  As I descended quickly, I was having seriously difficulty seeing through the flying snow and the borders of the groomed run. Suddenly I hit powder. I was moving too fast to stop but I knew I had gone off piste. My heart jumped. I had no idea of this mountain its terrain, nor could I see. I knew it was NOT good though. Short story, I  managed to maneuver my way back to the groomed run and got to the bottom. I sat there shaken. I felt like I had tempted fate beyond my limits. I didn’t want to get hurt or die on a mountain, or even tempt my fate to that extent. There was too much to do and live yet. I sat there paralyzed by fear. All the years of fun, good vibes, and confidence evaporated. Essentially, I caved into the fear instead of looking it straight in the face. I didn’t have the strength—at that time. So I stopped skiing to avoid dealing with it.

This June while at the Food & Wine Classic in Aspen, I reconnected with Colorado and it transported me back to those fun times as kid. On the top of the Ute trail, looking down on the hilly, steep terrain and Aspen below, I decided I was going to conquer this fear of skiing and “rediscover” this sport I had loved so much. How could I let one incident (with no real trauma other than mental) sideswipe me?

Back at Portillo, I am seriously questioning my mental sanity. How the hell am I going to get off this mountain? Why am I doing this? What do I have to prove? This is crazy. CRAZY. My mind shoots off in that direction again. For a minute I wonder if the chairlift can rescue me and take me back down. No, no, no. There’s no way out. I have to find the way. I have to decide to work through this. I must conquer. And then it dawns on me. This is not just about skiing. This is about how I live and confront life. An attitude.  I briefly flash back to all the amazing feats I have done recently. I moved to another country. My husband and I started a (flourishing) business. I wrote a cookbook. We just bought our dream aparment in Santiago. We got married and planned a wedding. To name a few.  I realized I had to move. Action! I couldn’t just stand there being indecisive. Nothing ever comes of that. Just like anything I have set my mind to, and gone after, I have to make the skis do what I want them to do to get the results I desire (getting to the bottom).

Ok, I am going to pick my line and communicate this intent to my skis. They WILL follow my body. I can do this. I can do this. I have been on harder slopes and stickier situations before. I look ahead and keep saying to myself, “I am going there”. I know I can go wide if I need to decrease velocity. I know I can move my body faster to bang out those tight turns.

I look down, I feel a little queasy. Vertigo…but something nudges me forward and I go. Wide turn, and then another, and then I find my center, and confidence. I cruise down that hill. I get to the bottom and look up. YES!!!  I did it. Tchau fear–for this time.

And there’s the lesson. It’s not about eliminating fear. There will always be another run, another event in life that causes me to feel it. It’s about how I learn to deal with fear, act in the face of it, and always conquer it with total confidence in myself and my abilities (not being stupid or reckless, obviously). Epiphany on a ski run? Quite possibly. It’s great to be back on the slopes.