My Back Story

I’ve always loved to ski. In high school, weekends spent at the ski hill, training with my race team were some of my favorite. I went to a small school and I never really felt like I fit in there. I struggled to make friends and I always felt like I was on the outside. The race team was an exception to that. The hill was like a second home and my team a second family. I felt more at ease there than almost anywhere else.

In January 2018, I was 17-years-old. I was finishing up my first semester of grade 12. I’d applied and been accepted to the University of Ottawa, and I was excited to start my new adventure there in the fall. What I was not excited about was my provincial pre-cal exam, which was only a few days away. I’d spent the day before chained to our kitchen island trying to cram as much knowledge into my head as humanly possible, instead of going skiing. Even though I was worried about how the exam was going to go, I was relieved to be heading to the hill to ski instead of spending another day fighting what felt like a hopeless battle.

I geared up in the club room just like any other day. The vibe was always chaotic in the morning, with kids of all ages squeezing onto the benches to get ready and digging into their cubbies to get their gear. There were always at least ten different conversations going on at once, bleeding into each other and overlapping. I loved the atmosphere of being in the club room, and pretty soon, I’d completely forgotten about my upcoming exam.

All smiles on race day!

We weren’t training gates on this morning. Instead, we each had to pick one thing we wanted to work on related to our skiing technique, and the coaches were handing out specific drills at the beginning of each run. We’d go down the run doing the drill, debrief with a coach when we got back to the top, and then go again.

I was working on letting go of my edge to really accelerate through my turns. I’d been racing for a while and skiing even longer. I was competent, but also a very hesitant skier. I wanted to go fast, but I felt a deep need to be in control to be safe. Even a marginal amount of acceleration could feel unsafe for me because I didn’t trust my body to handle it. Not a great trait for a ski racer. I’d slowly been growing my confidence, and I was excited for this season because I felt like I was finally getting the hang of things.

The drill I got from my coaches was to say the word release in my head at the moment that I knew I should be releasing my edge to accelerate into the next turn. We all knew that I knew when I was supposed to release my edge, the trick now was getting me to actually do it. I pushed off the top of the run, feeling ready to fully commit and give it my best try. Release….release…release, I thought it myself. I was definitely picking up speed. Release…release…release. This was working! I was actually doing it! Release…release…rele-ah!

I’d been so focused on releasing my edge that I had completely forgotten another important aspect of ski racing, looking ahead. I grew up training at a small hill, so I had skied this run hundreds of times. I should have known the roller was there, but I was so focused on releasing my edge that I completely forgot that it existed until I was practically on top of it.

A roller is like a giant speed bump in the middle of the run. They’re a common feature, and people ski over them all the time, often without a thought. Usually, when you see a roller coming, you set yourself up on a good line, manage your speed appropriately, and bend your knees. I didn’t have time for most of that, so I made a split second decision to bend my knees an exorbitant amount, in an attempt to absorb the bump and keep going.

Skiing over a roller in the mountains.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. I caught my edge and took a fall.

The fall itself wasn’t serious at first, but my momentum carried me across the hill, to the edge of the run, where I slammed into a block of ice that had been left behind by the groomer.

The impact broke my back in five places.

I needed a major spinal surgery.

I wore a back brace for months.

I struggled with basic tasks like sitting, standing, and carry a backpack.

I battled with chronic pain for years.

I am incredibly lucky to have been able to return to all the activities I loved before my injury, and painfully aware of all the ways it could have been so much worse.

This injury completely rearranged my life in a split second. I spent about two weeks in the hospital. When I returned home, things improved, but I’d still lost all my independence, just as I was supposed to be gaining it. Abruptly, I couldn’t even get out of bed without help. I missed out on all the lasts of my grade 12 year. Suddenly my last times skating, skiing and coaching were all behind me, even though I’d expected to have months left.

I persevered through extreme pain and exhaustion to complete three more classes. I got my back brace off, turned eighteen and attended my high school graduation. It looked like things were improving. My graduation day was magical. I felt like a princess and, by some miracle I didn’t have any pain. That magic was short lived though. I struggled through a physically demanding summer job and, when I moved away for university, the pain came with me. I was determined not to miss out on anything else, but I was always in pain. Sitting through three hour lectures was brutal. Gradually, the pain would increase until it took all my energy to keep myself upright in the chair. The lecture would fade in to the background as I fought a battle only I could see. The walk back to my dorm offered no relief. Carrying a backpack was excruciating. I would arrive home and flop on my bed, completely exhausted.

The pain stayed with me everyday for years and fear was a constant companion, even once the pain started to recede. I was afraid of reinjuring myself. I had trouble trusting my body, and I was constantly doubting myself. The emotional scars of my injury took even longer to heal than the physical pain.

My injury was devastating, but through the recovery I learned so many important lessons. I learned to trust my body again and discovered that I could do really hard things. I overcame my fear and found the joy of skiing again because I already knew the importance of never ending on a fall. I learned to listen to my intuition and started building a life of alignment. I conquered chronic pain and finally understood the importance of fun. I learned how to roll like a full tire and how to ask for help. I grasped the significance of the words we use to talk to ourselves. I’m proud of the person I’ve become, and I know that I wouldn’t be who I am without this formative experience.

I know that the small choices we make everyday create our reality. I believe that how we live our lives ripples into our families and communities, and I understand how the lessons I learnt during my recovery allowed me to create the life of my dreams. In sharing these lessons, I hope to foster resilience, challenge limiting beliefs, and show others how they can overcome anything that comes their way.

My name is Torie, and this is my back story.