Getting Back on Skis After 26 Years—and What It Taught Me About Leadership
This article was originally created for LinkedIn post on 2/16/2025
Last month, I did something both exhilarating and terrifying—I went skiing for the first time in 26 years.
It had been so long since I last felt the rush of carving down a slope, the crisp mountain air against my face, the sheer joy of moving effortlessly through the snow. The last time I skied, I was 19 years old—a fearless young woman who had skied since the age of four.
For years, I dreamed of going back. But life happened. Responsibilities piled up. There was always something standing in my way. And just like that, 26 years passed without me doing the one physical activity I truly loved.
So when I booked this trip, I felt a mix of emotions—excitement, nostalgia, and an overwhelming fear.
What if I couldn’t do it anymore? What if I fell and got hurt? What if I had lost that part of myself?
But despite the doubts, the anticipation was stronger. I had to go.
The Roadblocks That Almost Stopped Me
When the day finally came, it was as if the universe wanted to see just how badly I wanted this.
Atlanta was snowed in. The roads were icy and dangerous. TSA lines were two hours long. My lane took only 30 minutes. Flights were delayed and canceled. Mine somehow stayed on time.
Everything around me seemed to be setting up obstacles, but nothing could stop me. I felt like the universe was both testing and pushing me forward—challenging me, yet making sure I got to where I needed to be.
And I knew deep down—I was meant to be on that mountain.
The Moment of Truth
The next morning, I strapped on my ski boots, feeling the weight of 26 years of anticipation.
Ski instructors urged me to take it easy, to start slow, to stick to the beginner slopes for a while.
I nodded, but inside, I felt something different.
As I reached the top of the mountain and snapped my boots into the bindings, I heard that familiar click—and suddenly, something clicked inside me, too.
I took a deep breath. My heart pounded. This was it.
I pushed off.
And within seconds, it all came back.
The stance, the movements, the way my body shifted weight between turns—it was all still there. My muscles remembered. My instincts took over.
There was no hesitation. No fear. Just joy.
The beginner slope wasn’t enough. As soon as a blue run appeared, I took it without a second thought. With every turn, my confidence soared. I laughed out loud, whooping with pure exhilaration as I sped down the mountain.
For two days, I skied nonstop—soaking in every second of the freedom, the speed, and the sheer power of remembering who I was.
And that’s when it hit me—this wasn’t just about skiing.
What This Taught Me About Leadership and Growth
That moment reminded me of something powerful—something I see every day in my work.
So often, leaders face projects or challenges that feel daunting. A new role, a high-pressure initiative, a struggling department. The fear kicks in.
What if I don’t know what I’m doing? What if I fail? What if I’ve lost my edge?
But here’s the truth: If you’ve built the skills, your instincts will take over.
I’ve spent 20+ years leading complex transformations, fixing broken operations, and guiding executive leaders through high-stakes change. I’ve driven over thousand successful process improvements, saving companies money and increasing revenue.
And yet, every new challenge still brings that moment of doubt.
But just like skiing, my brain knows what to do. I’ve done this before.
And that’s the lesson:
When fear creeps in, trust your foundation. When the challenge seems overwhelming, lean into what you already know. When you're faced with uncertainty, remember—you’ve built the skills to handle it.
Skiing again after 26 years wasn’t just about rediscovering a sport—it was about rediscovering trust in myself. It reminded me that when you’ve put in the work, your instincts don’t disappear. They’re always there, ready to guide you.
Leadership is the same way. When faced with new challenges, uncertainty creeps in. But the truth is, you already have what you need. Your experience, your resilience, your ability to navigate the unknown—it’s all there.
And that? That’s freedom.