Today at the Deer Valley bike park, I did.

Let me tell you what happened.

Day Seven

Today was my seventh day at the bike park this summer.

I’ve been showing up. Not every day. Not perfectly. Just consistently. And today, I looked up and saw the upgrade!

The huge, quiet, sneaky progress that had been building underneath every ride I didn’t even count.

The Silver Lake Chairlift

The Silver Lake Express is one of those chairlifts that goes up the mountain and then goes down. When it’s climbing, my back is against the steel chair. That part is easy. When it crosses the peak and starts descending — I’m facing the drop.

That used to terrify me.

Today I rode up with another mountain biker. We were chatting. I forgot to put the bar down. I didn’t hold onto the sides. I didn’t grip the chair. I didn’t squish my bum back into the seat.

I was centered. Just breathing.

Do you know how it feels to realize your body isn’t scared anymore — and you didn’t even notice when it stopped being scared?

That’s what happened. Right there. Mid-ride.

The Test

After that, I got curious. I wanted to see if it was real.

So I rode the Sterling Express — another chairlift, another test.

I sat comfortably. Not anxious. Not nervous. My breath didn’t quicken. I didn’t look down at the earth below and shrink into the back of the chair. I didn’t grip anything.

I was relaxed.

The kind of relaxed you don’t remember choosing. The kind that means your nervous system finished a lesson your mind wasn’t paying attention to.

The Flow Trails

Same story on the trails.

When I first started riding Holly Roller — the easiest flow trail at Deer Valley — I would stop four times. Sometimes six. I’d catch my breath. My fingers would cramp from gripping the bars too hard. I’d shake my hands out to release the tension. Every section. Every time.

Today, I rode Tidal Wave to Twist and Shout to Tsunami — three black flow trails — without stopping once.

I used to hold my breath on every turn. I don’t anymore.

Five Laps

I used to do two runs on a good day. Just two. And then I’d be so wiped I’d have to take a recovery day.

Today I rode five laps back to back. The chairlift was my only break.

Do you see what I’m seeing?

The Wow

I got to the bottom on that fifth lap and I just stood there. Bike between my legs. Sun on my face. And this quiet wow came over me.

Those look like small wins. But they aren’t small.

They are huge wins wearing tiny outfits.

I have been growing and I didn’t fully see it until today. And here’s the part that stops me — what else is there? What other places in my life am I growing right now, silently, that I haven’t noticed yet? What other obstacles have already started to shrink while I was busy focusing on how big they still felt?

The One Lesson

Here it is.

Progress hides. Then one day, it doesn’t.

You will not feel yourself growing while you’re growing. You will feel tired. You will feel frustrated. You will feel like nothing is changing. You will wonder if you should keep going.

Keep going anyway.

Because one day — a Tuesday, a Friday, a random morning at a chairlift — you will look up and realize you are already the person you were trying to become.

How This Shows Up in Skiing

Do you remember your first ski lesson? The way you gripped your poles? The way your legs shook on the magic carpet? The way you felt like you’d never, ever, get down that green run without falling?

Do you remember the first time you didn’t fall?

Or the first time you stopped counting how many times you fell?

That’s the day your progress became invisible to you — because it became normal.

That’s the whole point.

Skiing is the same story as biking. The same story as life. You show up. You get scared. You keep going. And one day the fear that used to live in your body is just… gone. Not because you conquered it. Because you outgrew it.

What I Want You to Know

If you’re in the middle of learning something hard — a sport, a skill, a version of yourself — I see you.

Do you feel like nothing is changing? It is.

Do you feel like you’re not getting stronger? You are.

Do you feel like you’re the only one still gripping the chairlift? Everyone was. Then one day, they weren’t.

Trust the invisible work. It’s happening.

My Invite to You

Come ski with me this winter. Let me be the one who notices your progress before you can see it yourself. Let me point at your feet the first time you carve without knowing you carved. Let me celebrate the exact moment your fingers stop cramping around the pole.

Progress hides. My job is to show you where it’s been hiding all along.

DM me to book. Come to the fun side. Ski ya later.

The post You’re Growing Right Now. You Just Can’t Feel It Yet. appeared first on SkierTV.

Last August. Deer Valley. Undertoe mountain bike trail.

I flew off my handlebars and landed on my face and stomach. Scratches on my belly. Scratches on my chin. A bruised ego. A scared body. A loud, clear message from the Universe that I had been ignoring for weeks.

Let me back up.

The FOMO That Got Me There

I was about to leave for a two-month Europe trip.

Two months. Off the bike. Off the trails. Off the dirt I love.

So I rode every single day leading up to the trip. No rest days. No off days. Just me, my bike, and the quiet voice inside me that kept saying slow down.

I didn’t slow down.

FOMO is a powerful force. Especially the FOMO of I won’t get to do this for two whole months.– Actually until the next year as it’d be almost winter when I get back. It overrides intuition. It overrides exhaustion. It overrides the body whispering please, baby, just take one day off.

I should have listened. I didn’t.

The Trail

Undertoe is one of the black trails at Deer Valley Bike Park that feels like it was carved by someone who knew exactly what would scare you and make you smile at the same time.

I’d ridden it before. Many times.

That day my legs were tired. My focus was thin. My body was running on fumes and adrenaline and the secret kind of pride that comes from telling yourself you can do anything.

I rolled in.

The Moment

I felt it before it happened.

The front wheel hit something. A rock. A root. A divot. I’ll never know exactly what.

My body went forward. The bike stopped. Physics took over.

I went over the handlebars. Full superman. Face first. Stomach second. Legs third.

I remember the sky for one second. Just blue.

Then ground.

I slid. The dirt scraped my stomach where my shirt had ridden up. My chin took the brunt. Dirt inside my mouth. Full-face helmet did its job for my head — thank you, helmet.

I lay there. Trying to breathe. Listening to my body.

Toes — yes.

Fingers — yes.

Breath — yes.

Nothing broken. Just torn skin and a heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.

The Realization on the Ground

I was lucky. That’s the word.

I didn’t land on a rock. I didn’t land on a tree stump. I didn’t land on anything that would have changed my life. I didn’t break my jaw, teeth, ribs, shoulder. All intact!

I landed on dirt. Soft dirt. The kind of dirt that scrapes you and reminds you that you’re alive.

Lying there, I knew exactly what had happened. The Universe had been warning me for two weeks. Slow down. Rest. Listen. I had said no thanks, I’ve got a big adventure trip coming, I have to get my fill.

The Universe said okay, here you go.

What I Should Have Done

I should have taken a rest day. Or three.

I should have listened to my body the morning I woke up tired and thought I’ll just push through.

I should have remembered that the trails would still be there in two months. They always are.

I should have trusted that the love I have for biking doesn’t have to be proven by riding every single day until I break.

Why I Haven’t Been Back to Undertoe This Summer

Here’s the thing. I’ve been mountain biking this summer. Plenty.

I just haven’t been back to Undertoe.

Not yet.

Part of me thinks I’m avoiding it. Part of me thinks I’m being smart. Part of me knows I’ll roll back in when I’m ready — and not a day sooner.

That’s a kind of progress too.

What This Taught Me About Skiing

You knew this was coming.

Life is skiing. Skiing is life. And biking is the summer cousin who keeps me humble.

Here’s what falling on Undertoe taught me — about biking, about skiing, about everything.

We fall. Every single one of us. The best skiers, the best bikers, the best humans you’ve ever met. We fall.

We get up. That’s the whole sport. That’s the whole life.

Quitters never win. Winners never quit.  It gets loud enough for me to hear it on a hard day.

Falling is part of the game. Not a flaw in the game. Part of it. You cannot ski better, bike harder, or live bigger without falling somewhere along the way.

Listen to your body. This is the lesson I’m still learning. Your body knows what your mind refuses to admit. Trust it.

Make original mistakes. I’ll fall again. I know I will. But I’m committed to making new mistakes — not the same one twice. That’s growth.

Helmets matter. Wear yours. Always. Every ride. Every run. Every time.

My Invite to You

If you fell in your last ski session and you’ve been scared to go back — I see you.

If your body remembers something your mind hasn’t fully processed — I see you.

If you’ve been waiting for permission to step back on the snow — this is it.

Come ski with me this winter. I will hold your hand to the top of the mountain. I will contain your fear onto you. I will see your nervous system soften before you do. And I will help you fall in love with skiing all over again.

You will fall again. We all do. But you don’t have to do it alone.

DM me to book. Or visit SkierTV.com.

Come to the fun side. Ski ya later.

— Ceylan

The post I Flew Off the Handlebars on Undertoe. appeared first on SkierTV.

I just came back from a kiteboarding trip in Turks and Caicos. It was transformational.

I’ve been taking kiteboarding lessons for the last four summers. Akyaka. Antigua. Tulum. Marsala. All with one single goal — to leave the beach independently. And come back to the beach independently.

It was a long beginner curve for me. Way too long.

I’m proud that I’m patient with everyone else. I’m not really patient with myself.

The Orange Light

For four years I didn’t get a green light from my instructors. They kept giving me an orange light.

Being in a kiteboarding lesson means wearing a life vest. A helmet. A walkie-talkie dangling from the helmet with the instructor’s voice telling me what to do and what not to do at all times.

When it’s up to me, I wear nothing but the required clothing. A bikini. A waist harness. That’s it.

This trip, I was determined to go out again by myself.

The Day I Decided to Go

After a two-hour refresher lesson, on my second day, I committed to head out alone.

At our kiteboarding hotel, my fellow kiteboarder friend pulled in multiple guests and the hotel owners to help me. What started as one person became five. The concern spread fast.

They were gently trying to convince me not to go that particular day. The wind was gustier than usual. It was high tide — water up to my neck instead of my hips. The waves were big and inconsistent. The wind was inconsistent.

One experienced guest boarder suggested he’d take the kite thirty yards into the water. I’d swim to him. He’d hand me the kite. Safer that way — so if I lost control, I wouldn’t fly into the roof of the hotel.

Then the hotel owner lady asked me — with a little judgment in her voice — if I was really going to wear those sunglasses.

I love those sunglasses. Pit Vipers. Pink-tinted. Heart-shaped. With a strap. They fit. They make me happy.

I started second-guessing my commitment.

But I could not quit.

I just could not say to myself, Okay, I’ll try tomorrow morning when the wind is more mellow. I could not.

The water was white. Waves were breaking. The kite was flapping at the top of my 12 o’clock wind window.

In the Water

The experienced guy launched the kite and walked into deep water with my board. I swam out to meet him.

He said he’d hold me as I got the kite from his spreader bar hook to mine. He held me with his life. He moved behind me and gripped the back of my harness so tightly that I could not trust my hips to bring my chicken loop over the water. He was holding me so tight that I could not float my legs to move the harness hook over the water.

His worry was that I’d lose control of the kite. Fly. Slap onto the beach. Or tangle myself and him in the lines — lines strong enough to rip off a leg.

I could not get the hook onto mine. The water kept splashing on my face. On a low-tide day, the water would have been at my belly. Easy. Today it was a fight.

And there it came again. He said, Would you like to try another day?

Me. Noooo. Please don’t hold me so tight. Give me wiggle room.

He reluctantly released my harness.

I laid back on the water. I got the spreader bar hook over the surface. I clipped the chicken loop in. The donkey dick in.

He started holding me looser with each step. Still worried eyes.

I looked back at the beach. Four sets of eyes watching every struggle. All of them holding their breath.

He passed me the board. And he freed me.

One eight-move of the kite. I got up on the board. Kite at 11. I started riding.

I felt five people exhale at once. Okayyy. She got it.

The Truth

The reality is — I got it from the very start.

I absorbed everyone’s worry and fear into my body. That’s why it was so hard out there. Not the wind. Not the waves. Not the tide. Their fear.

I’m proud I didn’t quit based on someone else’s fear.

I knew it in me that I could. Even when I hesitated. Even when I doubted myself. Even when the safer voice in the room said try tomorrow.

If I had chosen to be guided by fear — theirs or mine — I would have missed it. I would have missed riding the entire bay from one end to the other. I would have missed the freedom of owning that water with my own two hands.

I would have missed me.

What This Taught Me About Skiing

Here’s why this matters for skiing. And for being a ski instructor.

I know the humbling beginner mindset. Four years of orange lights will do that to you. I know what it feels like to want a sport so badly and have your body not quite catch up to your hunger. I know how heavy it feels to want to quit.

I know when to encourage. When my student is one breath away from the breakthrough. When she just needs to hear you’ve got this one more time before her legs remember.

I know when to set you free. A good instructor doesn’t hold you tighter when you’re scared. A good instructor gives you wiggle room. The hook will only go on when your hips float and your legs trust the water.

I know that fear is contagious. Other people’s worry can land in your body and slow you down. My job is to be the one person on the mountain whose energy makes you more capable, not less.

I know the sunglasses matter. The pink heart-shaped ones. The outfit that makes you feel like you. Confidence has a uniform. Wear yours.

I know that the breakthrough is already inside you. I just see it before you do. That’s the whole job.

As you know — life is skiing and skiing is life. Skiing is a low-risk activity that builds the confidence in you to take the next step in life. Skiing is supported by nature. It’s healing. It’s an analogy to bring the courage out of you for life.

My Invite to You

Come ski with me this winter.

I will hold your hand to the top of the mountain. I will give you the right amount of wiggle room. I will not project my fear onto you. I will see your breakthrough before you do — and I will set you free at the exact right moment.

You’ll come down that run owning the whole bay.

DM me to book. Or visit SkierTV.com.

Come to the fun side. Ski ya later.

— Ceylan

The post I Just Came Back From a Kiteboarding Trip in Turks. appeared first on SkierTV.

Two summers ago. Kitesurfing. Three miles from the boat. Floating toward rocks with my kite up. About to rip it open and become Tarzan for who knows how many hours.

Okay — days, I’m joking. Mostly.

Let me back up.

How I Got Here

Four years ago I picked up a brand-new sport. Kitesurfing.

I’m a learn-by-doing kind of girl. I fall. I fail. I course-correct mid-air. I barely read the manual.

After many lessons and many wipeouts, I somewhat started going upwind.

If you’re not a sailor or a kiter, here’s what that means. Riding upwind isn’t just a skill — it’s a strategy. You zigzag. You change direction. You find that fine-tuned sweet spot where you go upwind at a consistent speed — but not so upwind that you stall out. You gauge where to stop. You watch for sailboats with long masts. You watch for shallow coral. You make a many small decisions every minute.

Sailors get me.

Green Island, Antigua

Two summers ago. My friends had their sailboat parked in front of the kitesurfing school in Green Island.

My friends are methodical. Strategic. The kind of people who study the wind chart before they launch.

I’m the other kind. I just go.

That day I went downwind just fine. When it was time to come back — I lost it. And I lost the board.

One faceplant and the board was already three yards away. With a kite, you can’t just swim to your board. I tried to body-drag back. The board was moving faster than I was. We separated.

And just like that, I was alone.

The Slow Drift

I was three miles from the boat.

My friend was supposed to have eyes on me. I was way too far for him to see anything but a speck.

The board was gone.

I laid my kite on the water — hoping he’d notice that my kite wasn’t up in the sky anymore. That was my only signal. My only lifeline.

I started drifting toward a deserted patch of land with rocks. I wasn’t going to die. But I was about to rip my kite open and become Tarzan for the rest of the afternoon. Or longer.

It felt like hours. It was actually about thirty minutes.

He finally came looking — because he couldn’t see my kite up anymore. Just like I’d hoped.

He’d been reluctant to come earlier. Because that morning, I had said the most famous last words in adventure sports.

“I know what I’m doing. I’m ready to be independent. I’ll go by myself and come back by myself.”

Humbling. Humiliating. Hilarious in Hindsight.

That day I got to meet my stubborn side.

Rarely. Sometimes. Often. Oh well.

Me being stubborn has brought me to many adventures — and many failures. And many embarrassments. I wouldn’t trade any of them. But I would like to trade some of the lessons in for a less expensive tuition.

Here’s Where Skiing Comes In

Beginner mindset is amazing. Exciting. Thrilling. And just a little bit out of touch with reality.

There may be a long learning curve. Many adventures. Many unknowns.

That’s why you hire an instructor. In any sport. When your instructor says go — you go. You trust the process. You trust your mentor. You trust the progression.

A good instructor is a good student.

I’ve been on both sides. As a seasoned ski instructor, I know the path to the top of the mountain — because I’ve climbed it myself, fallen on every step, and gotten back up on every step. I’m learning to be a better student every season. Which is what humbly makes a better teacher.

My Invite to You

This is your invitation.

Come ski with me this winter.

I’ll hold your hand to the top of the world — safely, in confidence, with a whole lot of laughter on the way. I’ll teach you the progression. I’ll celebrate every light bulb moment. I’ll meet you wherever you are — first-timer, comeback skier, or seasoned ripper who wants to grow.

You don’t have to figure it out alone. I tried that in Antigua. It went poorly.

DM me to book your winter session.

Come to the fun side.

Ski ya later.

— Ceylan

The post I Almost Stranded Myself on a Deserted Island in Antigua. Here’s What Skiing Has to Do With It. appeared first on SkierTV.

Yesterday? This morning? Two seconds ago when you missed a turn?

Yeah. Same.

Let’s talk about the words you choose to describe you.

The Text That Stopped Me

I went skiing with two of my deep humans last week. A couple. He’s an old friend. She’s a new friend.

He filmed us coming down Road to Provo. That black run that opens up Gad Valley. Big, beautiful, a little spicy.

I was making railroad turns. Smooth. Consistent speed. Locked in.

She was managing her speed with Z-shape turns. A little pizza here and there. Doing exactly what she can do to feel safe and have fun.

Then her text came in about the video he sent to our group chat.

“Terrible form vs professional form.”

She meant me as professional. Herself as terrible.

I read it and immediately said cancel, cancel inside my head.

Words Are Spells

The Universe is listening to every single thing you say about yourself. Every word is a request. It’s up to you to choose the higher word. The higher word leads to the higher reaction. The higher reaction leads to the higher self-image. Because the version of you that you speak into existence is the version that shows up.

How you describe your experience becomes your experience. So when you call your skiing terrible, you’re not describing reality. You’re casting a spell.

And girlfriend, please cast a better one.

You Are Not Terrible. You Are In Progress.

Listen.

Mikaela Shiffrin works on her form. Lindsey Vonn works on her form. I work on my form. Your favorite ski instructor works on their form.

Nobody came out of the womb in ski boots. We are all works in progress. Every single one of us. Forever.

That’s not the bad news. That’s the good news. The work is the entire point.

What I Actually Saw On That Mountain

When I watched the video back, I didn’t see terrible.

I saw two beings enjoying what Mother Earth gave them that day.

I saw a woman saying yes to a challenge. Trusting herself. Picking her own line. Finding her own rhythm down a black run.

I saw a friendship deepening on snow. A new connection forming somewhere between the bowl and the bottom.

That’s not terrible. That’s holy.

Inside Voice Kind. Outside Voice Kinder, Please.

This is the rule I live by.

The voice in your head should be kinder than your sweetest friend. The voice that comes out of your mouth should be kinder still.

Not because we’re being precious. Because words create. Especially the ones you use about yourself.

Try it. Catch yourself mid-sentence the next time you’re about to say something cruel about you. Say cancel, cancel. Then try again with kinder words.

Watch what happens to your skiing. Watch what happens to your life.

Your Turn

Here’s your homework, friend.

For the next seven days, catch every “I’m terrible at this” before it leaves your mouth. Cancel it. Replace it with “I’m working on this” or “I’m learning” or my personal favorite — “I’m becoming.” “I’m committed to get better”

Then come back and tell me what shifted.

DM me your cancel, cancel moments on @SkierTV. Tag a friend who needs this reminder. Save this post for the next time you catch yourself talking trash about you.

You’re not terrible. You never were.

You’re in progress. And that’s the whole holy point.

Come to the fun side.

— Ceylan
@SkierTV

The post Cancel, Cancel: The Words You Use About Yourself Matter appeared first on SkierTV.

If you want me, specifically, as your ski instructor, this is the move, babe:

• Call Deer Valley Skier Services (the ski school booking line): 888-754-8477 or 435-645-6648, and tell them you’d like to book private ski lessons with me for your preferred dates.​
• If needed, follow up with an email to skierservices@deervalley.com noting that you requested me by name, your dates, preferred times (AM, PM, or full-day), and the level/ages of your skiers.​
• Book as early as you possibly can; prime holiday and weekend slots go fast.

If Private Lessons Aren’t Available

If my private slots are booked (or you want other options), Deer Valley has some really solid Plan B (and C) choices:

• Adult Max 4 groups: Small-group adult lessons (ages 18+) with a maximum of four skiers per instructor, offered morning and afternoon. You can request Deer Valley’s Max 4 adult group program if you still want something super personal but your dream private day with me is gone.​
• Kids’ group programs: Adventure Club (ages 7–12), Reindeer Club (5–6), and other kids’ programs run all season with small ratios and fun, structured learning. I’m not guaranteed to be assigned to these groups, but they’re excellent on their own.

HEADs UP! What Kind of Mountain You’re Signing Up For

Let’s be clear about the vibe so you know what you’re walking into:

• Deer Valley is skier-only. No snowboards allowed, which keeps the feel very old-school, elegant, and carve-y instead of park-and-pipe chaos.​ For the board-y and jump-y kind of play, join me at an adult night at Woodward. I don’t coach at Woodward, it’s only play!
• The resort is in Park City, Utah, about 40 miles from Salt Lake City International Airport (SLC). Easy & peasy!
• If you’re flying private, you would land at Heber City Airport (Russ McDonald Field).

Ski ya later!!!

The post How to Actually Book Me as a Ski Instructor appeared first on SkierTV.

I’ve been miserably sick the last three days. It’s not Covid or the flu – I tested negative. I picked up something else and it is fully moving through me. And even with all my gratefulness practice, today has been one of those “this is really hard” days to practice it.

Gratitude in the hard stuff

Today Rhonda Byrne reminded me: be grateful for everything, not just the pretty parts. Be grateful for sickness. Be grateful for hard times. Be grateful for the darkness, too. It’s a tall order but I got it. I’m grateful that this is expanding my vessel to receive more health now and from here on out.​

I’ve barely moved off my couch and I think I’ve taken nine naps. My hip and knee joints hurt, my throat tickles every time I breathe through my mouth, and it sends me into sneezing fits. And still, underneath the misery, I’m forcing to see that my body is healing and recalibrating for what’s next.​

Mother Earth’s snow show

One thing I felt so excited about today: it started snowing. Winter wonderland finally arrived. I was starting to feel low-key concerned seeing everything still brown as we roll into December.​

I didn’t move from my couch much, but from here I can see the street light and the way the snow drifts through its glow. I’m watching it like Mother Earth put on a private show just for me. Hallelujah. Thank you!

Highest vibration reminder

This is a little love note to myself and to you: the highest vibrations are joy, gratitude, happiness, and passion.

For some people, feeling shifts first and thoughts follow. For me, I usually have to start with the thought and then the feeling comes. Gratitude is my shortcut. Some days, like today, I absolutely force myself to find the tiniest things to be grateful for – not because it’s cute or spiritual, but because it lifts me one notch up the emotional scale when I really need it.​​

Today’s tiny gratitude list

So here I am: feeling miserable and also deeply grateful. I’m grateful that I have this body as my vessel to live this life, even when it aches. I’m grateful that in just a matter of days, I’ll have skis on and be gliding off the mountain again.

I’m grateful I have my puppy to cuddle. I’m grateful for my comfy couch. I’m grateful that my fireplace is warming my back. I’m grateful that my internet is working so I can listen to “The Secret” podcasts and let those reminders wash over me. I’m grateful that I’ve been forced to slow down and go inward these last few days.​​ What are you grateful today? You’re welcome to keep it very simple.

Come ski with me

I’m so grateful that I have a ski instructor career where I get to share my passion and my heart on the mountain. Come and get some! I will happily hold your hand on the slopes and cheer for every little victory – on skis and in life.

The post Winter Wonderland from My Couch appeared first on SkierTV.

I did a backflip yesterday. It was my second time on a trampoline. I didn’t grow up stepping on a trampoline, ever. There is a little girl in me – curious and courageous. A coach walked me through a step-by-step progression. He showed me how to fall safely onto a big foam bed, then how to roll backward into a foam pit, and then how to jump into the foam pit. He guided me to backflip into a lower foam pit. After that, we moved to the trampoline. He demonstrated how to move my hands, counted down to the jump, and helped me feel and ride the springs. I repeated the movements with his help. I face-planted, and the sting from the textured trampoline net really woke me up. I hopped off to the hard side, and when I landed, I bit my tongue mid-bounce. I was spent, burned through all my calories, and breathless, yet I didn’t want to stop.

Three takeaways from his coaching:

• Step-by-step progression matters
  Building skills and confidence in small steps is crucial.  If we’d started straight on the trampoline, I might have talked myself out of it, letting fear win. My own journey with coaching and being coached today reinforced the value of patient progression—from the easy to the challenging, from cautious breaths to exhilarated leaps.
• Highlighting what I did right matters
  My coach highlighted each right move, which reminded the little girl inside me that “a good job” deserves recognition. Repeating those successes helps rewire self-talk from self-doubt to self-belief.
• One simple, repeatable approach works
  One instruction at a time, reinforced in multiple ways. Verbal cues, demonstrations, and hands-on guidance cover visual, kinesthetic, and auditory learning styles. I’m carrying that approach into my teaching—addressing all learning preferences for ski students as well.

In my skiing coaching, this gentle approach nudges my students forward. If confidence is low, we build it with repetition. If fear appears, we go to an easier run on a slower pace for a lap or two. When we’re on a tougher section and fear creeps in, I’ll propose three turns at a time, then they follow my lines. Before I take them to the top, they already know how to side slip, engage uphill ski edges, and shape turns to stop. Of course, life’s worries and pre-existing vulnerabilities throw off all of their newly learned skills, so I model it first and invite them to follow. I remind them to breathe, smile, and snap a photo.

My coach was McCoy on trampoline. My inner child thrived; that little girl was so proud! I love to play, and I was the oldest there among six girls. I didn’t mind. I’m working on keeping my courage up when I’m terrified of not belonging, rejection, making a clown of myself and more. The moment of awareness is powerful and unstealable. I found myself seeking validation, but awareness is growing. It’s a journey—new feelings with new people, a touch of doubt, and a resolve to rise higher. It’s remarkable how quickly I can shift between doubt and certainty. I did a backflip, and it felt liberating. I’ve carried many limiting beliefs that my joints are worn out and balance is off, but I’m choosing to rewrite that story.

Today and the season ahead

The countdown to the snow season has begun, and I’m choosing to stay present, balancing anticipation with patience. I’m ready to reach new heights, to learn, and to share this journey with YOU.

I’m grateful for this coated backflip experience, for the steadiness of my breath, and for the courage to step out of the comfort zone with full commitment. I’m excited for the snow season, AND I’m practicing presence—savoring the accomplishment of the backflip while staying open to the next summit.

I’m on a mission to reach new heights, embracing challenges with an open heart. My higher self is arriving, one brave step at a time. Thank you for seeing me and being here!

A note for you, friend
If you’ve ever hesitated to try something new, consider the three takeaways I’m carrying forward: progress in small steps, recognition of what you’re doing right, and keeping the approach simple while engaging all the ways you learn. You don’t need to be perfect to start—you just need to start, then keep going. Come and join me on a ski day at Deer Valley in 2025-2026 winter!

The post Backflip to Belief: One Coach, One Courageous Leap, A Lifetime of Learning appeared first on SkierTV.

Here’s how my ski instructor life started!

Fast forward from Poiana Brașov. After living in Los Angeles for ten years, I needed a change. Not a huge change, but something real. My translation business was still going strong in L.A. But I felt like I was stuck in a routine. I needed a gentle adventure. I wanted to explore what else was out there for me. I needed new energy, a new space.

I visited a bunch of places—San Diego, Ojai, Malibu, Ventura, Santa Barbara, Palm Springs. Then I landed in Big Bear. Big Bear was the most different spot of all. Pine trees and horse manure in the air. The pine tree smell took me right back to my island summers. It smelled like home.

I found a cabin with Wi-Fi, surrounded by pine trees. I loved the simple life there. For a whole week, I didn’t wear shoes. I didn’t know anyone except my friends Paul and Raya, who had a weekend getaway on the other side of the lake.

On my second day in Big Bear, Paul picked me up. He gave me the full tour—one market, police station, post office, airport, and the two resort bases. That was my Big Bear orientation.

We parked at the Snow Summit base, one of the two resort bases. We wandered around. A guy handed us a flyer—a job fair in two days with tons of seasonal jobs: bartender, ticket counter, ski instructor.

I thought, “I love skiing. This could be fun.” So, I went to the job fair.

I took my ski resume—including my ski vacations—and my babysitting experience—yep, that too! I sat down with my future assistant manager at a white plastic table, and we chit-chatted.

The day after, I got the job offer. Later, I learned that ski schools really look for someone who’s coachable and personable. Just being a good skier doesn’t mean you’ll be a good ski teacher. After all, I was hired at a table on a warm fall day. A ski instructor needs empathy, patience, and a light touch with life. You have to make safe decisions, be on time, manage your time well, and communicate clearly. Skiing skills aren’t the most important part. A great skier doesn’t always make a great instructor. I’m grateful to have those skills—most of the time, anyway!

That winter in Big Bear, I caught the snow bug for teaching.

P.S. My friends, Paul and Raya, have a movie on Amazon. Our Happy Place. It shows great scenery of Big Bear. Just a heads-up—it’s kind of creepy! Get the movie here!

P.S. As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

The post From L.A. to Big Bear: My Leap into Ski Instruction appeared first on SkierTV.

I started skiing because of swimming. That’s right! It all began there. I was 13 the first time I strapped on skis. My original sport is swimming. I grew up by the water in Istanbul, Türkiye. My summers were spent at my dad’s and grandma’s summer homes by the water.

My dad’s summer home is on an island called Heybeliada—just a breezy 30-minute ferry ride from mainland Istanbul. I remember jumping off a diving platform deep into the water, expecting my dad to catch me. I was only 3. I’d climb four steps onto the platform. Dad would already be in the water, ready. Sometimes, I’d go deep—four seconds down—and he’d scoop me up, one arm pulling me to the surface like a superhero. People clapped for my little splash show. I loved that spotlight! The fears of being seen came much later, but back then? My little heart soared.

My grandma had a cherished summer home in Yeniköy, right by the Bosphorus. Such a magical spot. Yeniköy used to be a sweet little summer town – on the European side of the Bosphorus. Now it’s all city. That strait separates Asia and Europe. It carries a wild current from the Black Sea to the Aegean Sea through the Sea of Marmara. Grandma wouldn’t let me swim too far, but she loved to take me on the current’s ride. We’d jump in together, gliding for about 200 meters. Rest in peace, my grandma was my partner in crime. Then we’d walk back and do it all over again.

Summer meant switching between my dad’s place and grandma’s house. When I was 10, I started spending more time at my dad’s house and they built an amazing aquatics club right on Heybeliada. Every kid signed up for swimming, sailing, or water polo. Me? Swimming. Lots of laps in the 50-meter pool—3 to 6 kilometers a day, training hard three summers straight. Our team got stronger, thanks to our coach Mirca Hoca — imported from Poiana Brașov, Romania.

We called him Bay Mirca—that’s “Mr. Mirca” in Turkish. A retired swim coach with broken Turkish and a big heart. He taught me about sportsmanship, discipline, commitment, hard work, and not-so-instant gratification.

One winter, Bay Mirca surprised us all. He took the swim team to his hometown for our winter break. Indoor pool training in the mornings, skiing the rest of the day. That’s when I put on skis for the first time. The mountain air, the snow, the thrill of sliding—and not knowing how to stop—it was WOW. I got the powder bug right there, in Poiana Brașov. From then on, I chased winter like a love affair, skiing every chance I got. Two to ten days every season… until my Big Bear adventure started… That’s coming next post!

The post Swimming to Skiing: My Unlikely Winter Love Story appeared first on SkierTV.