By Adrienne Partridge, Ph.D.
“Kurt, I’m nervous,” I admitted as I tried to breathe more slowly. “This snow is impossible to ski through.” My Norwegian boyfriend, an experienced backcountry skier and mountaineer, agreed that ski conditions were dangerous. The brick-like snow had frozen over after an avalanche.
“Kurt, estoy nerviosa,” admití mientras traté de respirar más despacio. “Es imposible esquiar en esta nieve.” Mi novio noruego, experimentado en el esquí y el montañismo, estuvo de acuerdo en que las condiciones eran peligrosas.
“Ok, Bunny, you can do this,” Kurt asserted. “Follow me.” Cautiously, I followed him down a narrow chute on the steepest backcountry ski terrain in North America, a remote area where even the most advanced skiers have fallen to their deaths.
My legs were strong, having spent the previous summer biking up the high mountain passes of the Rockies. I’d always loved the outdoors, and I’d even worked as a ski instructor right after graduating from college.
I relished that I had crossed the chasm of depression that had gripped me earlier that year, and I was now only six months away from finishing my Ph.D in Organizational Psychology. I had been climbing my own mental mountain for the past five years, wondering if I would ever get to the top. The prospect of descending this mountain with Kurt felt like a tangible challenge to express my empowered state.
Kurt and I had met the previous year while he was going through a divorce. We fell in love quickly, and I tried to keep up with his fast-paced life. He possessed the good looks and strength of a Viking, and his bright intellect was sprinkled with charm and determination. For a feminist with a conservative upbringing, he and his egalitarian views were refreshing.
My skis scratched through the snow as I followed Kurt slowly. Snowflakes began to fall, hitting the exposed areas of my face. We were only a quarter of the way down when I took a sharp turn to avoid a particularly uneven area. My left ski got stuck in the snow, and I plummeted to the ground. As I fell, I heard a crack in my left knee and felt a sharp pain. I landed on my side, legs twisted, in the icy snow.
“I can’t move, Kurt. I think something terrible happened to my knee,” I whimpered.
Kurt hustled over and released my skis from my ski boots. I tried to stand up, but my knee couldn’t hold me. We had to act quickly or there was a good chance we’d get stuck on this isolated stretch of mountain in the middle of a snowstorm. Just as Kurt began debating whether to leave me and go find help, a couple passing by let us know that they would alert the ski patrol.
The ski patrol brought relief and escape from the mountain. The crisis had been averted, or so I thought. But as Kurt drove me to seek medical care, he had grown quiet. A look of disdain spread across his face as he raced his BMW sports car along the backcountry roads.
“You’re fat and out of shape. That’s why you fell and got injured,” Kurt chided.
Mientras Kurt me llevó al doctor, se quedó en silencio. Una mirada de desdén se extendió en su cara mientras manejaba su BMW rápido en las carreteras rurales.
“Estás gorda y fuera de forma, por eso te caíste,” dijo Kurt.
Vergüenza y devastación llenaron mi estómago. No fue la primera vez en que Kurt usó mi cuerpo para dañarme. Herida, lloré en silencio en el asiento de pasajero, y me prometí que iba a perder 20 kilos. Si perdiera peso, tal vez mejoraría nuestra relación.
Read more in the Fall 2020 digital issue of Mujer!.
Lee más en la versión digital de Mujer!.