Never Too Late

A Bit of A Late Bloomer

I grew up in the suburbs of western New York, miles of sidewalks surrounded by farmland. The outdoors for me were my backyard, the beach at the lake, and a small pocket park we could walk to some afternoons.

The cross country team I joined my sophomore year of high school took us on many journeys through neighborhoods to the edges of parks - trails we couldn’t run on because someone had been attacked there last year and the school said the girls’ team was high risk.

I chose a state university, affordable and close, but not too close, to where I grew up. I bought my first pair of hiking boots as a first year because everyone else wore theirs to class and I wanted to walk up the hill where the locals would launch their paragliders. I wear the same kind now, because I lucked out with a sturdy pair; at the time, I chose them because they were a pretty red in a sea of brown pairs.

My first backpacking trip was in winter in Upstate New York, a borrowed backpack and much too large sleeping bag. I let the trip leader assume I’d been backpacking before, too embarrassed to out myself as a beginner, and it’s pure luck that I didn’t get frostbite.

A friend phoned me the summer after to ask if I wanted to climb and I did. We hopped in the car with a borrowed harness for me, climbing shoes I found on ebay, and his trad rack; he taught me how to lead belay while he drove. I followed my first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth multi pitch routes that week.

This winter I took a leap and decided to make my first alpine ski season also the season I try instructing. At my training, another instructor told me he hated my skis, that they were only good enough to instruct toddlers. Another asked me the last times my edges were sharpened when I took a tumble on a headwall of ice.

I slid headfirst down a steep section of a green run at the start of my PSIA Alpine Level 1 Exam, picked my head up long enough to give my examiner a thumbs up, and tried to make it down to the lift without crying. They told me my downhill skiing needed serious work, said I gave the most engaging lesson they’d seen in years, and passed me anyway.

Making the leap into any activity as an adult can be daunting. In the outdoor world, there’s specific jargon for each sport, a multitude of companies trying to sell you the latest gear, and a whole slew of social interactions to navigate. Left and right, people will make you feel like you can’t possibly belong unless you've been skiing for longer than you’ve been walking. How and where do we start our journeys in a new sport?

As a working outdoor professional who has gotten all of my starts in my adult life, the best advice I can give is to keep trying. The second best is to find the people that make you feel welcome and ignore the rest.

Outdoor blogs, youtube channels, and social media accounts are becoming more and more ubiquitous as hiking, climbing, skiing and other sports rise to the forefront of popular American pastimes. Frequenting your local gear shop or big brand outdoor store can be intimidating and can also provide some essential face-to-face interaction, allowing questions to be answered, conversation to be made, and comfort to be found. Even better, there are many activity-based groups that can be found in your area. Joining a trail running club, adult climbing team, or meeting up with a local outdoor group (like Alpinistas Collective!) can be a great way to learn hands-on, find a supportive network, and grow in our self-confidence.

Don’t let people push you out of outdoor spaces. You are valid, you are strong, you belong. You are capable of making mistakes and learning from them, you are ready to grow from both your experiences and the experiences of others. Find the people who are happy to share the knowledge and skills that were shared with them; find the friends who are willing to be silly, to laugh with you over falls and inconsequential mistakes, the ones who are ready to gracefully correct the ones that could cause harm.

And remember, we all start somewhere.