Leaving Ego At The Door - Skiing in St Anton

Five metres

That was all it took.

Five metres from where we clipped into our skis to the button lift in St. Anton, and I already knew this trip was going to challenge me. As our instructor casually said, “Let’s head over to the lift,” I felt myself sliding, scrambling for balance, unsure of my connection with the snow. It was a small moment, but it landed heavily.

As someone deeply embedded in the outdoor industry, and as an athlete who has represented Ireland in mountain running, I pride myself on competence. I’m used to knowing my body, trusting my movement, and feeling at home in the mountains. Skiing, on this trip to St. Anton with Columbia Sportswear, reminded me what it feels like to leave all of that at the door.

Being a Beginner Again

I’d skied once before, a few years ago in Åre, Sweden, and managed to pick it up quickly enough. I’d even dipped into some off-piste terrain with friends. But I’d never taken a lesson. This trip was different. Columbia invited us to St Anton to have a structured, intentional, and beginner-focused trip. In fact, when I was invited on this trip, Eoin from Columbia asked, “Do you ski?” and when I replied, somewhat timidly, saying, “I’m not a great skier,” expecting that to be the end of the conversation, he said, “Fantastic!”

Straight away, once we hit the slopes, I found myself comparing my progress to others, wanting to look like I knew what I was doing, even though the entire purpose of the trip was to learn from the beginning. There was embarrassment in those early moments, and frustration too. I struggle with not being good at things. Starting from zero isn’t comfortable, especially when you’re used to performance, efficiency, and improvement curves.

What skiing stripped away, quite quickly, was the need to be the best, or even to be perceived as competent. Once I committed to listening, really listening, to the instructor, the focus shifted. Improvement came, and raw enjoyment replaced unfair expectation.

I won’t pretend I enjoyed being bad at skiing. But I did enjoy being challenged. As the group split into different ability levels, I consistently placed myself at the upper end, not out of confidence, but because I learn best when I’m being slightly dragged along, when I have a feeling of wanting to keep up. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s honest.

Humbling First Turns

My first hour on skis can be summed up in one word: humbling.

There were nerves as I strapped in that morning, and while I allowed myself to share them, helped by the safe, beginner-friendly environment, vulnerability isn’t my default setting. Still, the instructors made an immediate difference. Within a run or two on an easy blue slope, I felt confidence creeping in. Control, however, was another story entirely.

There’s a difference between picking something up quickly and doing it properly. Skiing exposed that gap immediately. Subtle changes in body position, balance, and movement made enormous differences. The foundations matter. By the end of that first session, I wasn’t just sliding downhill; I was starting to understand skiing.

Our guides were exceptional, calm, patient, and deeply experienced, part of one of the most respected ski schools in the Arlberg region. Just as important as their technical knowledge was the environment they created. Falling wasn’t failure. It was feedback.

Learning how to get back up, again and again, without judgment might have been the most humbling lesson of the trip.

Chairlifts, Conversations & Connection

One of skiing’s underrated qualities is how punctuated the experience is. Effort followed by stillness. Focus followed by reflection.

Chairlifts became places for conversation, about technique, gear, conditions, work, and life. Shared outdoor experiences have a unique way of accelerating connection, and this trip was no different. Despite varying abilities, there was a collective openness to learning, to laughing at ourselves, and to enjoying the process.

Those long pauses between runs gave space to process breakthroughs, and to realise that everyone else was navigating their own version of the same learning curve.

A Sense of Place

St. Anton itself left a lasting impression. Luxurious, yes, but grounded in a deep mountain culture.

Our first meal at the Arlberg Hospiz Alm, a historic building dating back to the 1300s, set the tone. Traditional food, an extraordinary wine cellar, and a glimpse into what this valley was long before it became a global ski destination. It felt rooted. Authentic.

The apres ski culture was a surprise, too. Compared to the democratic, everyday feel of skiing in Scandinavia, the Alps felt celebratory. Skiing in St Anton here feels like an event, a holiday, an experience designed to be savoured.

Finding Flow on Day Two

By the second morning, something had shifted.

Confidence came quicker. Movements felt more natural. We ventured further, explored new terrain, and avoided repeating the same runs twice. That sense of exploration is what draws me to the mountains in the first place, whether running uphill or skiing down something unfamiliar.

St. Anton has a reputation for challenging grading, and by the end of the day, skiing a red run with confidence felt like a genuine milestone. Someone told us, “If you can ski here, you can ski anywhere.” I believed them.

More importantly, I felt present. Not optimising. Not analysing. Just skiing.

Gear That Let Me Forget About Gear

Columbia kitted us out in a range of their Titanium ski gear, alongside Omni-Heat base layers I’ve relied on for years as a runner. What stood out wasn’t any single feature, but how seamlessly everything worked together.

Waterproofing, pit zips, ski-pass pockets, adjustable hoods, warm gloves, all the small things that allowed me to focus on learning rather than comfort. Good gear fades into the background. That’s when you know it’s doing its job.

Watching a film on the first night featuring one of Columbia’s ambassadors skiing deep powder in Japan, in the exact same kit we were wearing, reinforced a simple truth: this was gear built to grow with you, wherever your skiing might take you.

Leaving the Ego at the Door

Skiing in St Anton reminded me that you don’t need to be good to have fun.

You don’t need to be the best, and you don’t need to optimise every moment. You just need to show up, be present, and allow yourself to learn.

More than anything, this trip reaffirmed the value of being a beginner, of trying something new without fear of being bad at it. Of falling, getting back up, and maybe even doing it with a bit of style.

Skiing has earned a place in my annual outdoor calendar now. Not because I’ve mastered it, but because I haven’t.