I underestimate myself. This is my problem. It means that I'm too busy worrying about messing something up to do it properly. So, I fail. Which makes me underestimate myself even more.

Here’s an example: say there’s a piece of rope in front of you that you must jump over. You’re running towards it and as it gets closer, all you can think is, “I can’t do it, it’s too high.” You’re right in front of the rope, eyes wide, and you falter, you doubt yourself. You give a half-hearted leap and trip over the rope. An outburst of laughter. You were right; you can’t do it.

See what I mean? Doubt is a fierce enemy. It creeps into your head and turns your fear into reality. Sure, it doesn’t make sense. It’s much more logical to put all your effort into something so you have more chance of accomplishing it. But that just isn’t how the brain works. Honestly, I’ve tried applying logic. I say to myself, “Well, you’ve jumped that high without the rope, so you can jump that high with the rope.” But it isn’t just a rope; it’s an obstacle. A chance of messing up and getting hurt. See, there’s no risk, no consequence if there’s no rope. But now there’s a rope, and a consequence if you get it wrong.

Now, I doubt myself a lot. One of the things I doubted was skiing.

I’ve been skiing three times. The first time I was scared senseless. These things on my feet kept taking away my balance and, to compensate, I went as slow as possible. I was a short, wobbly figure cutting straight across the slope, often halting completely when hitting a particularly snowy lump. It’s safe to say I was a menace to fellow blue-slope skiers.

The second time was barely better. Sure, I did improve. I learnt a few skills, started going a little faster, even went off-piste. Small things like that. I still doubted myself. Still wouldn’t try my best. The third time, however, was different.

It was in Italy. A place called Madonna di Campiglio. Sometime in the late afternoon, we arrived at a small hotel with balconies lining the front, a skeleton of wooden pillars, and most unusually, pink walls. The next day, we started skiing. We had lessons and I quickly found out I had forgotten a lot. I was back to being as slow as I was on the first trip. I was ploughing the snow instead of doing semi-parallel turns like I had accomplished on the second trip. Basically, I was back at zero. And, of course, my doubt just grew. The second day of the trip, I started remembering the controls, and, accordingly, our teacher started going down harder runs. You can imagine my reaction. I start taking the slope slower and slower. It was the same thing on the third day. But on the fourth, something happened. I don’t know what. Maybe I just got fed up of being so scared all the time, maybe my logic won out, or maybe I left my doubt behind. Whatever it was, I began trying. I took the risks and won. I found out I was good. I could fly down the slopes, parallel skiing all the way. I started overtaking people, swerving around them, my skis throwing up the snow. My heart no longer thumped with fear, but with exhilaration. I was in control. It was liberating.

That trip finally made me realise why someone would look down a snowy slope and decide the best thing to do was strap wooden sticks to their feet. Skiing isn’t logical, it’s just a bunch of fun. Crazy fun. Don’t think, Don’t doubt, just Do.