You’ve likely heard it in a boardroom or a frantic Slack thread. Someone says, "I think we’re getting a little out over our skis here," and suddenly the room goes quiet. It sounds like a gentle warning, but honestly? It’s a polite way of saying the company is about to drive off a cliff because its ego is moving faster than its infrastructure.
The phrase is everywhere. From Silicon Valley venture capitalists to local bakery owners, people use it to describe that sickening feeling of losing control. But where did it come from? It’s not just corporate jargon cooked up in a mid-level manager’s cubicle. It’s rooted in the literal physics of downhill skiing. If your center of gravity moves too far forward—past the tips of your skis—you aren't skiing anymore. You're falling. You just haven't hit the snow yet.
The Mechanics of Momentum
In the world of alpine sports, being out over your skis is a technical error. When a skier leans too far forward, their weight is no longer centered over the middle of the ski, which is where the most control exists. The tips dig in. The tails lose grip. Gravity takes over.
In business, the "weight" is your capital, your hiring, or your promises to shareholders. The "skis" are your actual product, your cash flow, or your operational capacity. When you promise a feature that hasn't been coded yet to close a deal, you're leaning forward. When you hire 500 people based on a projected growth rate that hasn't materialized, you're definitely out over your skis.
It’s a gap between expectation and reality.
Think about the dot-com bubble or, more recently, the rapid expansion of rapid-delivery startups like Gopuff or the now-defunct Buyk. These companies raised billions. They scaled to dozens of cities. They spent more on marketing than they ever made in revenue. They were leaning so far forward they were essentially horizontal. When the market shifted and the "snow" got choppy, they couldn't recover.
Why We Fall For It
Nobody sets out to be reckless. Usually, it starts with a win. You land a big client. You see a 20% jump in monthly active users. The adrenaline hits.
Psychologically, humans are wired for "over-extrapolation." We see a line going up and we assume it’ll go up forever. This is where the danger starts. You start spending next year’s projected profits today. You get aggressive because you're afraid of being left behind by competitors.
There’s also the "Fake it 'til you make it" culture. We’ve glorified the idea of the visionary who sees a future nobody else does. But there's a thin, blurry line between being a visionary and being out over your skis. One involves building a bridge as you walk on it; the other involves jumping off a ledge and hoping you grow wings before you hit the ground.
Take Peloton during the 2020-2021 period. They saw demand skyrocket during the pandemic. They assumed that the world had fundamentally changed forever. They invested $400 million in a massive factory in Ohio (the "Peloton Output Park"). They bought Precor for $420 million to increase manufacturing capacity. They were leaning hard into the turn. Then, the world opened back up. People went back to gyms. Demand cratered. They had to scrap the factory and lay off thousands. They weren't just fast; they were fundamentally unbalanced.
How to Tell If You're Leaning Too Far
So, how do you know if you're actually in trouble or just being "ambitious"?
- Check your "Burn vs. Earn." If your expenses are scaling exponentially while your revenue is scaling linearly, your skis are behind you.
- Look at your team's stress levels. If every single day is a "Tier 1 Crisis" just to keep the lights on, your infrastructure isn't supporting your growth.
- Listen to the "No" people. Every company has them. They're the ones in accounting or operations who keep saying, "Wait, we can't actually fulfill these orders." If you're ignoring them to chase "the vision," you’re leaning.
There’s a concept in engineering called Technical Debt. It’s the cost of choosing an easy solution now instead of a better approach that would take longer. Getting out over your skis is basically "Organizational Debt." You're borrowing from your future stability to fund your current speed.
The Cost of Recovery
Correcting your posture when you're already off-balance is painful. In skiing, it usually involves a "yard sale"—that's when your skis, poles, and goggles end up scattered across the mountain.
In business, a "yard sale" looks like a fire sale. It’s selling off assets for pennies on the dollar. It’s "downsizing" to "leaner operations," which is just code for "we messed up and now our best people are leaving because they don't trust us."
Recovery requires a forced slowdown. You have to stop looking at the bottom of the mountain and start looking at your feet. This is why you see companies suddenly shift from "growth at all costs" to "path to profitability." It's an admission that they've lost their center of gravity.
Real-World Examples: Success vs. Failure
Not everyone who gets out over their skis crashes. Some people manage to pull it back.
Netflix is a great example. When they pivoted from DVDs to streaming, they were arguably out over their skis. They spent billions on content they didn't have the subscribers to pay for yet. They even had the "Qwikster" debacle where they almost split the company in two. They were off-balance. But they moved fast enough—and the market moved with them—that they caught up to their own momentum.
On the flip side, look at WeWork. Adam Neumann wasn't just out over his skis; he was trying to ski down Mount Everest in a swimsuit. The company was valued at $47 billion based on "vibes" and "community," while its actual business model was just subleasing office space. When the IPO filing forced them to show their work, the physics caught up. The center of gravity wasn't just forward; it didn't exist.
Practical Steps to Stay Upright
If you feel like things are moving too fast, you need to apply the brakes strategically. You don't have to stop, but you do have to re-center.
- Audit your core metrics weekly. Don't look at "vanity metrics" like social media followers or "registered users." Look at cash on hand, churn rate, and fulfillment speed.
- Build "Buffer Quarters." If you hit a huge milestone, don't immediately double your goals for the next month. Spend a quarter stabilizing your systems. Fix the bugs. Train the new hires. Make sure the skis are waxed.
- Cultivate a "Red Team." Assign someone in your leadership team to specifically look for ways your current plan could fail. Their job is to find the ice patches before you hit them.
- Variable vs. Fixed Costs. In the early stages, keep as many costs variable as possible. Don't sign a 10-year lease when a month-to-month co-working space works. Don't buy the "Peloton Factory" until you're 100% sure the demand isn't a temporary spike.
Honestly, the hardest part of avoiding this trap is ego. It feels good to go fast. It feels even better to tell people how fast you’re going. But the mountain doesn't care about your LinkedIn posts. It only cares about gravity.
Actionable Takeaways for the High-Growth Leader
If you suspect you're currently out over your skis, stop the "vision" meetings for forty-eight hours. Right now.
First, get a cold, hard look at your runway. If your revenue stopped today, how many days could you survive? That’s your actual stability. Next, talk to your frontline employees—the ones who handle customer complaints or fix the code. Ask them what's breaking. They always know where the cracks are before the executives do.
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Finally, be willing to kill your darlings. If you have a project that’s draining resources but isn't contributing to the core stability of the business, cut it. It’s better to lose a pole than to lose your head. Stability isn't the opposite of growth; it's the requirement for it. You can't win the race if you're face-down in the powder.