![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I dreamed that I was skiing.
The trail was wide and lined with deep evergreen forests. There were a few inches of loose snow on top of the packed-powder base. I took gentle, lazy turns, glancing back occasionally at my curving tracks. I heard only the soft sound of my skis and the wind rushing past. The air was cold and clean, the quiet was deep and perfect, my movements were effortless, and nothing hurt.
I was about three when my parents first put me on skis. I was 23 when I stopped. The pain in my feet and lower legs was incredible. Worse than that, I was losing some basic skills, like keeping the tips of my skis from crossing. I was working harder and skiing worse and courting disaster with my decreasing control. I was confused, embarrassed, and afraid. When I left Vermont, I sent my skis to my parents' house and quit.
I didn't know it yet, but it wasn't my fault. I couldn't steer because the supporting ligaments in both ankles were torn, and the compression of the ankle joints was cutting off the blood flow to and from my feet. I learned this too late. My physical therapist says that I should never ski again; my joints are too easily damaged.
I was so sad to wake and find that I had been dreaming. But I'd rather ski in my dreams than not ski at all.
The trail was wide and lined with deep evergreen forests. There were a few inches of loose snow on top of the packed-powder base. I took gentle, lazy turns, glancing back occasionally at my curving tracks. I heard only the soft sound of my skis and the wind rushing past. The air was cold and clean, the quiet was deep and perfect, my movements were effortless, and nothing hurt.
I was about three when my parents first put me on skis. I was 23 when I stopped. The pain in my feet and lower legs was incredible. Worse than that, I was losing some basic skills, like keeping the tips of my skis from crossing. I was working harder and skiing worse and courting disaster with my decreasing control. I was confused, embarrassed, and afraid. When I left Vermont, I sent my skis to my parents' house and quit.
I didn't know it yet, but it wasn't my fault. I couldn't steer because the supporting ligaments in both ankles were torn, and the compression of the ankle joints was cutting off the blood flow to and from my feet. I learned this too late. My physical therapist says that I should never ski again; my joints are too easily damaged.
I was so sad to wake and find that I had been dreaming. But I'd rather ski in my dreams than not ski at all.
Tags: