The end in sight

I was driving home from the mountains last Sunday night after a great powder day. Since snow is a necessary ingredient for powder skiing, the drive home was bound to have its challenges. Initially, the roads were clear of fresh or blowing snow and we drove along with traffic out of the mountains, through the rolling hills, and back into prairie. It was on the long stretch of highway between Calgary and Edmonton that the sky let loose its torrent of snow. Within seconds the visibility went from good to nil. The snowflakes were large, the wind was high, and all I could see was a small ridge of snow marking where other cars had driven. If I looked up from the snow covered pavement, I saw flakes swirling at me and had no sense of where the road curved.

I was the lead car. There were no distant red tail-lights to follow. I slowed to a comfortable pace (well under half the speed limit) and thought "I will just drive and soon we will be through the storm". Stopping was not an option because 1) I wasn't sure where the lane ended and the shoulder began, 2) cars might not see me stopped and 3) I wasn't sure where shoulder of the road ended and the ditch beside began. So I drove. My friend kept reassuring me that I was doing a good job navigating through the whiteness.

The storm abated just a tad and some impatient drivers decided to pass, resulting in snow from their tires flying up and creating clouds of whiteout that were even more blinding than nature's. I swore. I swore like a stevedore. My friend and I then had a good laugh. Our laughing stopped when a red car passed to the left and moments later we saw its tail-lights partially buried in the ditch dividing the highway.

The storm seemed to go on and on. I checked the clock. Fifteen minutes had gone by since the whiteout began, then twenty five minutes. The kilometres crept by and I realized that if things stayed the same, if the storm continued and I continued to drive at 40-50K, it would be two hours more of classic white-knuckle driving. It seemed as if there were no end in sight. I felt like I wouldn't be able to go on for two hours but stopping was still not an option, so I drove on.

About forty-five minutes into the poor driving conditions, visibility improved. Passing cars still spun the loose snow into mini-blizzards but there were respites when I could see. The end was in sight and I relaxed.

The interesting thing about relaxing once the end was in sight, is that I have a habit of doing this. I do it in rock climbing, I do it in driving, I do it in skiing, I do it in life. I wrote early in my blog about climbing in the gym with a blindfold on. It was a drill designed to help the belayer visualize moves rather than a drill for the actual climber. I found, however, that I climbed better not knowing where I was on the wall, not knowing whether I was close or far from the end. I climbed each move as I was directed. I was fully in the moment. The climb was relaxed and easy and I was surprised how quickly I reached the final hold. Ordinarily, I would have sweated the climb until the last few moves and then relaxed and reached the pinnacle with ease.

I have this same habit of not relaxing until the end in my skiing. I received some feedback a few weeks ago that "once you have the end in sight, you ski well". This past weekend, I was told "once you get into your rhythm, your skiing is smooth". Knowing my prediliction for a good finish, I translated that into "once you have the end in sight, your skiing is smooth".

Apparently, learning to relax, whether or not the end is in sight, is one of those life lessons which is particularly important to me. I am therefore receiving the lessons in multiple forms. I believe that I have progressed; that I am no longer a novice but moving on to intermediate status. The end is not in sight, but I am moving forward.