Me v. Me: Skis + Knees
Makayla Elks
Senior Advertising and Public Relations student @ UNC - Chapel Hill | Career Peer @ Hussman Career Services
My parents turned me loose on a pair of skis at the ripe age of 3 years old. And I've been skiing out west and on all kinds of terrain for well over a decade now — hitting jumps, ducking in and out of tree lines, skiing switch, and some other questionable things that we’ll leave out for my parent’s peace of mind. I feel pretty confident about my abilities. Never in a million years did I think I would tear my ACL on a little ski trip with my friends…on the first run...and a green nonetheless.
My friends' experience levels ranged from “I’ve skied a few times” to “I’ve never even buckled a ski boot before,” and naturally, I was prepared to show off. (Huge mistake.)
We set off down the first run of the day, the beginner slope. I usually get bored on those flat catwalks, so I like to play around and hit the jumps and bumps along the sides to keep things interesting. About halfway down, I hit one and landed it, but within seconds, every skier’s worst nightmare manifested itself. My knee buckled, and I went straight to the ground.
I lay there, mentally assessing my body, terrified to move. My friends skied up, reassuring me with, “It’s okay! No one saw you fall!” As if that’s what I was worried about. I immediately yelled back, “No, you don’t understand, I didn’t fall,” followed by some more colorful language. I popped off my skis and sat on the side of the run, elbows on my knees, trying to process what had just happened. I described to my friends what I felt—the sharp, deep twinge in my knee—and convinced myself I just tweaked it. I stood up, took a few steps, and then my kneecap started wiggling around in my knee like a repelling magnet. And that’s when I knew. I was done for.
Ski patrol came to my rescue, and I was taken down the mountain in the dreaded sled. They assessed me as best they could but couldn’t give me a definitive diagnosis until I got a scan. Back at the lodge, I crutched my way inside, my mind a whirlwind of anger. Not sadness. Not panic. Just rage. I was so pissed off that I couldn't ski the rest of the trip. Pissed that I was going to have to sit on the sidelines for the foreseeable future. And after my diagnosis, pissed that I was going to miss out on the next 6 months of my life.
I sat there blank and numb as the doctor told me that I had a complete ACL tear, partial MCL tear, and partial LCL tear. He said, "Hey, look on the bright side; at least your meniscus is okay. That’s huge!" I bitterly thought to myself, “Yeah, great, Charles, we're just three for four on tearing major ligaments. Sweet.”
As I mentally processed the news, my mind raced through all the things I was about to miss: three upcoming ski trips, my entire season with the Ski Team, duck season, cycling, and the first week of my last semester of junior year.
Rehabilitation was brutal, and 10 months later, I’m still doing physical therapy. For six hours a week, my body became my full-time job. My days of worrying about date parties and what I would wear to the next event seemed frivolous. My focus shifted to rebuilding the trust I’d lost in my own body. I had so little faith in its strength. If I could break this easily, what else could break?
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Before my injury, I lived like I was invincible. But now? I felt fragile. Like a porcelain doll, I was terrified of shattering again.
What made it even more challenging was that most of my friends seemed to forget I’d even torn my ACL. I never milked my injury and mostly wanted to conceal it. I worked so hard to get my brace off early. Partly because I was determined to heal faster and partly because that brace was the bane of my existence and ruined every single outfit. I ditched the brace 2 weeks early, but that didn’t mean I was done. My rehab journey was still far from over. I just wanted to get back to being me.
My injury challenged me far more mentally than physically. In my mind, I still thought I was capable of doing all of the things I normally could, and was taken aback everytime I realized that I couldn't. The FOMO was excruciating and I questioned everything. If my body could break this easily, what did that say about my future? Would I ever trust it again?
About 8 weeks after my surgery, I developed tendonitis in my good knee, which nearly sent me into a spiral. But something my physical therapist, Kayli, said to me changed my perspective. She said, “Makayla, recovery isn’t linear. There will be ups and downs, and right now, you’re at a low point. So now we work to climb back up.”
And that’s what we did. Step by step, I learned that healing, whether physical or mental, isn’t a straight path. It’s a rollercoaster of progress and setbacks, and sometimes, the biggest battle isn’t with your body but with your mind.
In the end, tearing my ACL taught me something I didn’t expect—resilience. It forced me to face limitations and realize that being strong isn’t about pretending you’re unbreakable. It’s about recognizing when you’re fragile and pushing forward anyway.
So, while I never imagined I’d be writing about how I tore my ACL on a beginner run, I also never imagined how much that moment would change me. I’ve learned that true strength is knowing how to fall apart and put yourself back together again. And as much as I miss the feeling of invincibility, I’ve gained something far more valuable—endurance.
Recovery isn’t linear, but neither is life.
Connector for Students. Career Services professional
3 周Way to lay out the importance of resilience (and sometimes a touch of humor). Per usual, great work Makayla!