To most people, it probably wouldn't seem like much at all; as I look back and examine the physics of the matter, I know it really isn't much at all. But those 6 inches off the ski jump did more than merely raising my head another half a foot off the ground.

I've learned a lot about myself lately. To makes strides towards betterment--to just maybe even excel at something--I really have to push myself. And to accomplish something... that requires quite a bit of pushing. This lesson has come gradually--and by no means is complete. I'm still learning exactly where the bounds of my ability lie. And when it came to that ski hill, it finally realized that those bounds were actually on the other side of that jump and not before it.

But that realization came only after many, many runs. Each time I stared down at the jumps from the ski lift, I saw just how miniscule those bumps look from the air. Other skiers were able to fly off into the air with deft facility. But for me, heading down the hill, those slight mounds grew to unsurpassable obstacles and I veered away; they appeared monstrous from the ground. Perhaps it's only an odd combination of pure inspiration and crazed determination that can impel beyond the impasse: I finally faced the jump straight on and survived. The subsequent elation... inimitable.

I've tried hard to figure out what it was that kept me swerving away from the jumps the first dozen attempts or so. Was it my putative inability factored into some legitimate and logical calculation of risks? That's just the nice way of saying that I wimped out. The mind can be such a formidable obstacle to be overcome. Maybe one time I'll leap off-balance and break something. Maybe one time Yeti will bare his face and eat me as I launch off the jump. I guess my point is that I ought not to let these little improbabilities get in the way as often as I do and just push myself to go for it.

There are always the larger jumps, though. Those are to be conquered at a later date.