Fall down. Grit back up.

12-year-old me: I want to learn to ski.
My step-dad: You should join the race team.
(Huh?)

I learned to ski when I was 12. My step-dad was a ski instructor and a racer. He taught us how to ski at a little mountain in the Berkshire hills.

I wasn't good. That didn't stop my step-dad from saying, “You should join the race team." And so I did.

Apparently I didn't get the memo that the race team was for good skiers, not new skiers. No matter. They welcomed my wedge with open arms. I fell a lot, caught bamboo in the face, cursed the frigid early morning practices. But I kept getting up. I loved being a part of that team. I wasn't an ace, but boy, those girls could ski.

We practiced all morning and free skied all afternoon. We cheered for each other. We never gave up. Eventually, I got good.

My daughter took her first ski lesson last week. She fell a lot; I cheered. She cried tears of frustration when she could not get up; my heart smiled because I knew she would.

“Remember, if you aren’t falling, you aren’t growing.”

When was the last time you fell down and got back up? Let’s cheer each other on.