It was a cold day in Utah. Bundled from head to foot, I stood on skis at the top of the mountain, ready to take a run down with my husband. As an inexperienced skier, I was nervous about how I would keep up and make it down the mountain in one piece. I took comfort in the fact that we had our six year old daughter with us, and surely no one would take her down a black diamond (experienced skier) run. As we took off, I was shouting reminders to stay on only green beginner runs (for our daughter of course)!
We got down the top half of the mountain without any problems; I was trailing a bit behind, but still standing. I won’t go so far as to say that I was having fun, but I was hanging in there, trying to learn a new sport. Before I could even mentally celebrate that I was still alive, my daughter (the little traitor) took the lead and shot straight down a small chute and missed the turn for the easy way down. I didn’t know the mountain and didn’t want to get separated from them, so I followed. They waited for me at the bottom of the chute, and as I was pointing out somewhat emotionally that they missed the turn, my husband gave me a look that was part “I’m sorry”, part shoulder shrug as if to say, “What can we do?” and part “Oh boy I think I’m in trouble”.
Mark stayed beside me and fed me many encouraging words as I tried to pick which of the two steep blues I would claw my way down (they would have been double blues at another ski resort I’m sure). Finally he had to leave me behind and find our daughter who fearlessly had gone on ahead. In between thoughts of panic, I said to myself, “I let him do it to me again! I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t talked me into it! Why do I let him do this to me?”
Combining my best blend of snowplow (beginner skier’s painful way to control speed) and long horizontal runs, I made it down about an eighth of the run when I realized I really was not having any fun. I was cold, afraid, alone (left in the dust by a six year old!), I had a sinus infection, cramps from my period, and I had left my nursing baby at home. So I did what any self-respecting woman would do: I took my skis off and began to walk down. Scorning embarrassment, I knew I had reached my limits.
A young snowboarder stopped to check and make sure I was OK. I think he must have been a resort employee that was off duty, because a few minutes later a snowmobile showed up to give me a ride down. When I got to the bottom, my husband was waiting for me, concerned because it had taken me so long, but still with that sheepish look of, “Am I in trouble for pushing you too far?”
No, Mark wasn’t in trouble that day. Lucky for him, it was the six year old who missed the turn. I’m happy to say that over the next 2 years I persevered in learning to ski and now enjoy it. I will never be a ski racer, but we have lots of fun when we ski together as a couple and as a family.
So why did I let him talk me into it? It wasn’t the first time he had gotten me out on the limb. There was the rock climbing adventure where I cut my hand and had to work my way through real fear as he was thirty feet above me on the rock, and the only way out was to climb up. And there was our first Colorado backpacking trip where I broke down and cried because it was so physically demanding.
The simple answer is that I let him talk me into it because I love him. And yet it is more complicated than that. Years ago I read in the book, His Needs, Her Needs by Willard F. Harley Jr., that one of the top five needs of a husband is for his wife to be his recreational companion. I don’t know that I ever made a conscious decision that I would risk life and limb to be his recreational companion, but if it’s in his top five needs, I am challenged to at least make an attempt at recreating with him. The challenge is in that it just so happens that my man enjoys extreme sports.    If our love is proven by our actions, then I have many opportunities to show my love because my husband is all about action!
We have tried many forms of recreation to find out what we both enjoy. We started with what we have in common: we both love the outdoors. With a little perseverance, skiing worked well. With even more perseverance, fishing has not worked. That story is another chapter in the book, but I will say that my husband has accepted the fact that we (mostly me) don’t enjoy fishing together. He has a fishing buddy who enjoys it almost as much as he does, so that is who he fishes with. In our quest to find activities that we both enjoy, Mark has even picked up a new sport that I introduced him to. No, it wasn’t outdoor shopping, but rollerblading. I enjoyed the first two hours the most—the only time since I’ve known him that I was better at a sport than he! It was also pretty funny in a sick sort of way to watch him fall when he was getting the hang of it.
Being Mark’s recreational companion fascinates me. I have experienced many things I probably wouldn’t have done on my own. Not only have I learned to ski, backpack, and rock climb, but I’ve also tried snorkeling, mountain biking, white water rafting, cross country skiing and snowmobiling. I am better at some than others. I am not an exceptional athlete, only average, but it’s not about competition or performance, just companionship, enjoying something together. He feels loved because I am playing with him, and I have fun in new experiences.
In desiring to be my husband’s recreational companion, I have learned to face my fears on many occasions, although I don’t really like this part until the fear has been faced and it’s over. Mark has patiently coaxed, encouraged, taught me how to do these sports, and he has put up with my anxieties and breakdowns in the midst of it. He has taken me outside my safe little box and shown me the thrill of adventure. This is one of the mysteries of marriage that I believe our Creator designed from the beginning: when I stretch outside myself to meet his needs, I am transformed into more than I can be alone.
Playing together adds a joyful dimension to our marriage. We are not just business partners or parents in the trench together; we are friends. When we play, we laugh together and build memories that we continue to laugh about. Playing together also improves our love life. Could it be that God created men with this need because He knew how important play is in marriage?
The adventure continues and will continue. I fully expect that Mark will find a new way to pull me out of myself because my husband doesn’t sit still for very long. Whatever the adventure, you will find me by his side, hanging on for dear life, sometimes panicking, sometimes laughing, learning to put my love into action.

Pam Mueller