Nature, Nurture, Gnar?

We’ve come along way baby. April ‘24, Haines, AK. Photo by Anne Cleary/The Approach

If you saw me at 16, timid, air- and speed-averse on my skis, snowplowing up to a jump on the super-G training course, you would never guess that I would become a professional skier who eagerly jumped off cliffs on my skis at full speed for a living.

After that same training day, my ski coach humiliated me later as we watched the video of me plunking off the jump at zero miles per hour, him yelling in front of the whole team while pointing at my knock-kneed legs on the screen, “How can you even move downhill with your legs like this?"

His attempt to shame me into throwing myself off racecourse jumps did nothing for my skiing. I dug my heels in and went even slower off the jumps, trying to get the absolute least amount of air possible. I got proficient at going around when the group was freeskiing and the coaches were leading everyone off a jump in the woods—I discovered that if you keep up and say nothing, no one even notices that you didn’t go off the jump. And my confidence suffered from the shame I felt at the hands of that coach. Rather than ski harder, I second-guessed my abilities.

Then, as a freshman in college, I was back skiing at Crystal over winter break. A group of kids built a jump in the Northback side country. Boys were trying backflips and out of nowhere I felt a burning sense of duty to show that girls could try stuff like that, too. I dropped into the inrun, snowplowed a bit to scrub speed, and hit the lip. I flew halfway upside down then froze, like a pancake mid-flip, sailing limply through the air. I attempted to wriggle at the last second to not land on my head, and instead managed to land on my upper back folded into myself. But the snow was soft, and I was young, so I just laughed it off. Someone said I needed to really commit more. No shit, Sherlock. And then one of the guys, a nice friend of my brother’s, looked at me and said, “Wow, Ingrid. Way to go for it! That’s impressive!”

These days I follow Suzanne. Suzanne Brydges, Cascades, WA. March ‘25

After that, I was no longer the one in the back, avoiding the jumps and hoping not to be noticed. Before, the boldest guys just went and the rest of us trailed along. I was one of the group now, included in the choice of which run to do next, and occasionally they gestured a glove in my direction. “Want to go next?” In spite of my headfirst landing, attempting that jump had earned me a type of respect on the mountain that I’d never had before, and it felt good.

Two years later, in France on spring break to visit a friend who was living there (another story entirely), we built a jump in the backcountry and I dropped in nervously, telling myself over and over in my head to commit. I hit the lip and looked back as hard as I could, kicking skyward. I remember nothing except that a split second later I had hit ground right side up with a thwack and was skiing away from the jump, victorious. I had stomped my first backflip! The confidence I built from working up to that and going for it—even though I was scared—propelled me through many of the next steps on my way to becoming a professional skier.

Looking back, I can’t help but think that the confidence and willingness to finally try jumps ironically came from all those years prior when I said no and went around—or impossibly slowly off—the jumps. By learning to trust myself and building the muscle before jumping into something a) simply because someone else told me to do it or b) because everyone else is doing it helped me to nurture my own gnar switch until it was good and ready. It also gave me time to build up the actual, physical muscle to be strong enough to safely attempt these jumps. It certainly helped that my college ski coach built us up mentally using positive encouragement, and also focused on helping us get physically stronger in the gym and on the hill.

Gotta learn by going upstream sometimes. July ‘25, Leavenworth, WA.

Because of this experience and many other mistakes and wins, I believe that true confidence—the type that leads to lifelong critical thinking and intuition—is built on a deep sense of agency and inner trust. I try to keep this in mind to inform how I coach skiing, how I approach life, and in the way that I am trying to raise my kids.

After all, as they say, “Nurturing inner nature nets nice gnar.” Of course nobody ever said that, not yet anyways. Maybe they will now!

Thanks for reading!

A few links for this week:

An interview with a very cool art collective called MSCHF that had me inspired and giggling.

It’s generally a whole lot of empty noise on social media, but this guy who goes by the name of @thedadbriefs on Instagram has been making my occasional login worthwhile with his perfect mix of humor, cooking, and empathy-informed political worldview.

Oh my gosh this Taverna Salad by Lidey Hueck was yummy. I doubled the halloumi and used four slices of stale sourdough instead of the pita, and we devoured it for dinner the other night. Highly recommend as a picnic dinner or potluck item! (Link to unlocked NYT recipe).

—Ingrid

Having a good partner to follow, like Jim, is good too. July ‘25, Leavenworth WA.