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| Photo Credit: Josiah Wannemacher |
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I could feel dread washing over me. I
gripped my poles tighter, and shifted anxiously on my skis. As I gazed down the
slope, my mind reminded me that skiing was a crazy idea and that I should
detach myself from those things attached to my feet and walk back down to the
warm and safe lodge. My father, who was standing next to me, began to instruct
me on how to turn while skiing, how to-- Suddenly, I was bumped by a
snowboarder as he exited the ski lift. Down I went, quickly gaining speed. I
knew in that moment that I would probably die on that terrible slope; the bunny
hill.
On the car ride home I declared I
would never ski again. The day had gone hopelessly wrong. While I didn’t die on
the bunny hill, I almost did (or so I thought) when Dad took me down Long John,
a 2 mile long Green (easy) Trail. Halfway down, just as I was getting the hang
of skiing, I tripped and tumbled for about 10 feet. When I tried to stand up I
found I couldn’t. Somehow my left boot, which had come free from its ski, had
slammed into my right knee creating a huge, horrible bruise (that lasted for
over a week). Daddy managed to help me ski down the remaining mile of the
trail, and then I stayed in the lodge for the remainder of the day.
Now, 2 years later, I look forward to
skiing each year.
My stomach tightens with anticipation as
we crest the hill to the entrance of Mount Snow. As soon as Dad stops the car
we jump out and start carrying in our ski gear. With our snow pants on, boots
correctly tightened, and coat zipped up to Mom’s approval, we traipse outside
to our skis. Standing in line at the lift to the summit, we wait impatiently. Exiting
the lift, we quickly make our way over to the beginning of the trails that wind
down the face of the mountain. Gazing down, I smile with pure joy. Oh, how I
love to ski.
The first run is always slightly
awkward, being the first of the season, but soon I regain my agility. After
what seems to be only a few minutes, we gather for lunch at the base lodge. If
we hurry through lunch, we sometimes have time for one more run before our
lessons begin.
In order to separate the 75+ students
into classes, the ski class students are tested on the bunny hill, which has
been prepared with obstacles to test our ability. Usually, I’m one of the last
students in line, so I’m able to watch the kids from other nearby schools
complete their run. Some fly through the course with ease, while others slowly
inch down the slope. Last year, I did fairly well; I was placed in the “F” class
– third highest (A, B, C… to H).
While
at times I despise the group ski lessons, as some of my fellow students are extremely
annoying, they do help me advance my ability. If you have the opportunity, I
highly recommend joining a group that participates in ski lessons at a nearby
ski mountain.
♦ ♦ ♦
-Autumn Story Mott
