谷爱凌说，她一直喜欢写作：“自我记事以来，我一直在写作，我最大的梦想之一，就是与更多的观众分享我的作品。”

谷爱凌与恐惧的关系是不断变化的。她总会想到恐惧。她习惯写日记，她说，自己手写下的一些主题就是关于各种形式的恐惧。

应《纽约时报》邀请，谷爱凌写下了她的恐惧观——她如何看待恐惧，如何应对恐惧，以及她希望如何战胜恐惧。

本文作者：谷爱凌，来源：纽约时报。如果您喜欢蓝橡树的文章，请记得要把我们“设为星标”哦！

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我承认，我爱上了恐惧

在我迄今18年人生的后10年里，我一直在追寻着的是一种纷乱的、充满恐惧的爱。我是一名专业的自由式滑雪运动员，脚上的一双雪板、22英尺长的U型池和各种特技动作是我肾上腺素的主要来源，是也极限运动中真正令人上瘾的核心要素。

正如所有那些能迷倒常人的恋人一样（至少是像我从小说中读到的那些一样，因为现实生活中我还缺乏相应的经验），你这个重要的另一半有时可能会很……反复无常。

实际上，“恐惧”可以算是三种不同感觉的总称，那就是兴奋、不确定和压力。我已经发现，如果这些感觉能被识别和积极地利用，那么每一种感觉中都有一些微妙的指标可以帮助你成功，而如果其原理被忽视，那么这些感觉可能就会是你受伤的前兆。

虽然从事极限运动的运动员很容易被贴上“无畏”或“任性”的标签，但无论是我为构思技巧而花费的无数个小时，还是在泡沫坑（泡沫粒子到处都是的那种）里和安全气囊上度过的无数时间都可以表明情况并非如此。我们要违反自己的生物直觉，把自己置于风险之中。虽然我们会尽一切努力做好身体上的准备，但再多的安全网模拟训练也无法等同于我们从陡坡上起飞、把身体抛到空中并即将落地时所将面对的雪坡，它是不会讲情面的。

我们并非无视恐惧，而是要培养深刻的自我意识，并进行深思熟虑的风险评估，从而与恐惧建立起独特的关系。

这项工作的第一步叫做具象化：在我尝试一个新的技巧动作之前，我会感到胸腔（准确地说，是在我的喉咙底部和膈肌顶部之间）有一种紧张感。我深吸一口气，闭上眼睛。当我爬上巨大的起飞坡道时，我会在想象中伸展我的双腿以最大限度地提高升力。然后，我要在脑海中描绘如何以相反的方向扭转我的上半身，产生扭矩，然后再让它朝另一个方向弹回来。

现在，在我的意识里，我已经是飞在空中的状态了。我在跃起后第一时间就会看到自己的背后，然后身体旋转会把我的视线拽向头顶万里无云的天空。风声如同我耳朵里的一种音乐，每一个360度的旋转都在为我的运动提供音乐般的节拍。

当我的脚在我的身体下面时，我就可以在把身体拉到第二个空翻前的一瞬间发现最终落地的地点。当我回到可以面向前方的位置时，我会想象着我的腿在我的脚下摆动，并让雪鞋的前端承载着我的重量碰到地面。我露出微笑，然后睁开眼睛，一个1440度的翻转动作就完成了。

在完成“具象化”的几秒之后，我胸腔中的紧迫感会有一阵上下的波动，然后开始扩散——这个时候，我们已经来到破茧成蝶的关键阶段。兴奋感是肾上腺素的产物，也是我所酷爱和着迷的存在。

我既有着对自己安全创造奇迹的信心，也会产生对即将到来的不可预知体验的兴奋感，二者的平衡非常不稳定。我听说这个状态可以被称为“入境（zone）”，去年秋天，当我成为历史上第一个完成1440度偏轴转体动作的的女性双板滑雪运动员时，我就曾体会过这样的心境。

不幸的是，你心中的不确定感往往很容易就会压倒自信心。不完美的准备会使我的手心出汗，并使得我之前所说的那个感到紧张的位置被转移到自己的胃里，从而使你的每次呼吸都比上一次更浅。这种感觉不是恐慌，而是某种类似于畏惧的感觉。危险的信号会激发出进化的本能。

如果我选择忽略这个安全机制，我的身体可能会在空中不由自主地行动，旋转会失去控制，并迫使我为即将遭受的冲击做好准备，因为这个时候的我真的要恐惧了：如果完全投入这个动作，可能会产生灾难性的后果。每个自由式滑雪运动员都要以识别出兴奋感和不确定感之间的细微差别为目标，以便在最大限度地发挥能力的同时，把受伤的风险减少到最小。

最后，还有压力这一有着多种释放形式的动力源泉。一个人的压力体验——显然它是“恐惧”最主观的一面——会受个人经历和观念的影响。亲朋好友的期望、竞争的冲动、甚至是赞助的机会，都可能制造出高压环境。对于能克服压力的斗士来说，压力可能是一种积极的力量，但压力也可能成为失利的决定性因素。

MATTHIAS HANGST/GETTY IMAGES

不过，对于这种埋藏在心底的、渴望“证明自己”的感觉，运动员既可能会选择压制它，也可能选择强化它，而这很大程度上要取决于他们的自信心。作为一个刚刚成年的女运动员，我对于这方面还是很有些自豪的，我可以增强自己的自尊，并尽量减少自己对于外界期待的需求，从而控制我身边的压力。无论孤身一人还是面向整个世界，我都专注于感恩当下、判断当下，并享受体育带给我的快乐。

虽说我个人和这个世界的视角总会随着时间的推移而演变，但有一件事是不会变的：无论时间过了多久，在恐惧面前的我都会是一个无可救药的浪漫主义者。

I Admit It. I’m in Love With Fear

FOR THE LAST 10 OF MY 18 YEARS, I’ve pursued a tumultuous love affair with fear. I’m a professional freeskier, and twin-tipped skis, 22-foot halfpipes and double-cork rotations are my main sources of adrenaline, the truly addictive core of extreme sports.

Like all bewitching lovers (at least the ones in the novels I read, for lack of real-world experience), this significant other can be … mercurial. “Fear” is really an umbrella term for three distinct sensations: excitement, uncertainty, and pressure.

I’ve learned that the nuanced indicators of each of these feelings can be instrumental to success when recognized and positively leveraged, and harbingers of injury when ignored.

Though it’s easy to label extreme sport athletes as fearless or capricious, the countless hours I’ve spent visualizing tricks and practicing them in foam pits (foam. particles. everywhere) and on airbags (think giant Slip ’N Slide) suggest otherwise. It’s biologically counterintuitive for us to place ourselves in positions of risk, and while we make every effort to physically prepare, no amount of metaphorically safety-netted practice can equate to the unforgiving snow slope that rushes up to meet us after a steep kicker launches us into the air.

Instead of ignoring fear, we build unique relationships with it by developing a profound sense of self-awareness and making deliberate risk assessments.

The work begins with visualization. Before I attempt a new trick, I feel a tightening high in my chest, between the base of my throat and the top of my diaphragm. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. As I ascend the gargantuan takeoff ramp, I imagine extending my legs to maximize lift. Then I picture twisting my upper body in the opposite direction I intend to spin, generating torque before I allow it to snap back the other way.

Now, in my mind, I’m airborne. I see the backside of the takeoff immediately, then my flip draws my vision to the cloudless sky above me. My ears register the wind as a kind of song, every 360-degree rotation providing the beat to the music of my motion. As my feet come under me halfway through, I spot the landing for the briefest of moments before I pull my body into the second flip. I imagine my legs swinging under me as I return to a forward-facing position and meet the ground with my weight in the front of my boots. 1440 degrees. I smile. Then I open my eyes.

In the split second following my visualization, the knot in my chest flutters and spreads — those famous butterflies reaching their final stage of metamorphosis. Excitement, the child of adrenaline, my true love and addiction. That tantalizingly precarious balance between confidence in my ability to execute the trick safely and excitement for the unpredictable experience to come. I’ve heard this state called “the zone,” which is indeed where I was when I became the first female skier in history to land the double cork 1440 last fall.

It doesn’t take much, unfortunately, for uncertainty to override confidence. Imperfect preparation moistens my palms, pushes that tight spot down into my stomach and makes each breath shallower than the last. The feeling isn’t panic, but something like dread. Danger! cries every evolutionary instinct.

If I should choose to look past this safety mechanism, my body may act autonomously in the air, twisting out of the rotation and forcing me to brace for impact out of fear that full commitment to the trick may end in disaster. Every freeskier’s goal is to recognize the minute differences between excitement and uncertainty in order to maximize performance while minimizing the risk of injury.

Finally, there’s pressure, an energy source that can be wielded in many ways. One’s experience of pressure — by far the most subjective facet of “fear” — is affected by personal experiences and perspectives. Expectations of family and friends, a competitive streak, or even sponsorship opportunities can provide the scaffolding for a high-pressure environment. Pressure can be a positive force for competitors who leverage it to rise to the occasion, but it can also single-handedly dictate competitive failure.

But whether athletes alleviate or compound their innate desire to “prove themselves” depends largely on confidence. As I enter my early adulthood, I’m proud of the work I’ve done to cope with pressure by bolstering my self-esteem and minimizing my need for external validation. I focus on gratitude, perspective, and on the joy this sport brings me, regardless of whether I’m alone or in front of a worldwide TV audience.

Though my views of myself and the world are constantly evolving, one thing is for certain: no matter how much time passes, I’ll always be a hopeless romantic when it comes to fear.

本文转载自《纽约时报》，版权归原作者所有。

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