Six years ago when snow began to fall gently on the ground, the snow-covered mountain with fresh light snow that went up to my knees. I couldn't see anything, even right in front of me. Outside the temperature was cold even with all of the layers that I had on, around noon the snow stopped falling. At this time, I was with my ski group and instructor at this time we were just leaving the lodge after a small break to eat lunch.
About an hour later, starting to creep up on the end of the day, I was starting to become tired. It was the final run of the day, we went down the hardest run that I had ever been on in all my years of skiing. With my dislike of powder, this run didn't bode well for me. We were all racing down the mountain as fast as we could even though we knew that it wasn't a good idea, as it was one of our traditions to race on the last run of the day. I was close to the end of the run and in first place of the students with only my ski instructor left to beat. I became brave and tried to pass him on the ski slope, even though
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I stumbled, trying to get back footing, but it was too late. I fell and tumbled down the mountain for what felt like a lifetime in the soft snow that began to feel very warm on my snowsuit as I rolled. When I landed, I couldn't move because I was so shocked about what had just happened. All of a sudden, I started to feel my wrist swell up. I tried to choke down the tears, but I couldn't. At first, I didn't register the shooting pain, but as soon as I did, I was surprised at how much it had been hurting. Being a child and not understanding what it felt like to break a bone, and not knowing what I could even do about it. I got back up and skied down the rest of the mountain, now in last place. When I got down to the bottom, I saw my father, there to pick me up from the mountain. When he first saw me, he knew that something was wrong because I never
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
At 6pm on a Saturday evening, Sally and her parents were on their way to go skiing for their 20th time. The whole family was extremely excited and looking forward to this, especially since the place was somewhere they’d never been to before. As they were in the car, Sally was daydreaming about what the place would look like, and wondered if her worst fear would be there: ski lifts. Everything about this scared her. The car is out in the open, has no roof, and the ride could malfunction at any time. Since this unanswered question was on her mind now, she decided to ask her parents to see if they knew. “I’m just wondering, do either of you know if there are going to be ski lifts at the place?” Both of her parents paused in confusion but didn’t
I’ve done some scary things before and I always had the courage and motivation to do it, but this time, my courage abandoned me and just disappeared as if it was never there. It was a cool and chilly day, but the sun was shining hard at my favorite ski resort in Lake Tahoe in December. Crisp, white snow was delicately falling from the sky and it covered the ground like a blanket. But the luminous sun was melting the snow, making it wet and slippery. The trees on the side were towering but slender with dark, brown trunks and bright green leaves. I was wearing a cumbersome jacket and a helmet and I was starting to sweat a lot in the heat. There were tons of people in thick jackets carrying skis, poles, and snowboards milling around. I was in a lengthy line of people, all waiting to go on a ski lift. The lift led to a monstrously huge hill that I was about to ski on.
That thing was probably the most horrible thing I have ever seen. I have never been in contact with such a space consuming thing. It moved with a lack of elegance and fluidity. Snowboarders are probably the most annoying people on the earth. Don’t we have enough board related sports? Who had even invented the art of snowboarding? I had first learned to ski at the age of six, and had never even thought of learning how to snowboard. I was even annoyed at other snowboarder’s presence on the slopes and their laid back way of life. All I knew was skiing, and I loved it. When I asked my family what they thought about my skiing they said that I had a certain unique touch to it. Ever since I had learned how to ski, I had just wanted to get better and I was
I approach the rugged mountain, shielding my body from the nasty frost nipping at my exposed skin. The sun ever so lightly peeks over the horizon as I strap on my skis, lightly dusted with a thin layer of fresh snow. Although my body shivers unceasingly, I feel comforted by the surges of adrenaline pumping through my body. I skate briskly toward the ski lift to secure my place as the first person in line. On the slippery leather seats of the lift my mind races, contemplating the many combinations of runs I can chain together before I reach the bottom of the hill. I arrive at the peak of the mountain and begin building up speed. Floating on the soft snow, weaving through the trees and soaring over rocks, I feel as if I am flying. The rush of adrenaline excites me. I feed on it. I thrive on it. I am ski; I live for speed; I am an evolving technique and I hold a firm edge.
As we were climbing up the hill, I looked around to notice how green the lightly damp grass was, how beautiful the tall trees were, and how fast those snow clouds were moving above us. We got one elk on this adventure, so we decided we would pack up our stuff and head back home. As the white GMC reached the summit of Red Mountain Pass, I looked back to Silverton to see nothing but snow falling from the nearly black clouds in the sky, and I thought to myself--let it snow.
There are a few things in my life I could use to write a narrative off of, one that could really strike my mind would probably be snowboarding, not even just the aspect of snowboarding but how it is something you have the ability to do to and kind of use it as a coping mechanism, just something that lets you be at peace with yourself and not worry about anything else in the world. If you were to ask a skier or another snowboarder about the feeling I am talking about. The one where you are going up the lift for the first time of the year or even before you are about to have a nice run from the summit where you are just sitting at the top before you go down the mountain and you are just one with yourself and the mountain
Skiing has been a significant part of my life since I was three. The slopes fill me? with more joy than anywhere else. Throughout my years skiing, my Dad and my older brother Trevor have helped me. Following in their footsteps, I have progressed in both the way I ski and the difficulty of slopes I attempt. When I began skiing, I was scared and needed lessons. I could not complete any slopes except bunnies and greens (the easiest slopes). Through many days spent on the slopes challenging myself, my skill improved. I wanted to ski with my dad and brother, and knew I had to practice in order to even try keeping up with them. Determination to join them and be together skiing made me work harder than I have worked before to improve a skill. This story will help you see some of the challenges I faced and successes I achieved as I began to ski, and improved both my skill and mindset.
I was so hyped that I finally learned Snowboarding. After all those years only going on small hills on my heel edge, I finally was doing toe edge. We went up the hill for a couple of more runs and just like you already know we got on the chairlift and put on our bindings once we got off. We went all the way to the right side of the hill and snowboarded down it. While I was going down my board hit a small ice ball and my board caught an edge and I landed hard on my board. If you were me in this exact situation I could tell you it hurt alot! Image getting kicked really really hard by someone now imagine that hundred times harder, that was the pain I was in. Max came up beside me and asked if I was ok. I looked at him and said “ my butt hurts so much” After a couple of minutes sitting there we got up and went down to hill. I looked at the clock and realized it was closing time. I went did a fist bump with Max and went home. Now you just read my narrative of me overcoming snowboarding and I can tell you I was so proud of myself. I succeeded because I had the determination to do
stood upon, was frightening. The only was to go was down. I took a deep
I almost fell off a cliff on the side of a mountain. I was in Pitkin, Colorado, on a camping trip during the summer of 2009. The trees were green, the air was fresh so were the lakes, rivers, and ponds were stocked with fish and wildlife was everywhere. Usually, on these camping trips, I would be accompanied by a large number of people. However, this time, it was just my parents, my three brothers, and my two sisters. I was almost 12 years old at the time and having three older brothers made me very competitive. Naturally, when my family decided to climb one of the mountain’s which were around us, I wanted to be the first one to reach its peak.
In hiking, as in life, there are choices between success and pain, pride and safety; this is the story of one such choice. Last summer I participated in the Rayado program at Philmont Scout Ranch. The eighth day of the trek was my crew’s greatest challenge: Super Black Death, a hike of seven peaks in one day.
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
I have been told throughout my life that I am abundantly prone to clumsiness. Some stories in my life are perfect evidence for this accusation, such as the time on New Years I fell off a jet ski. The Jet Ski story is now a popular anecdote in my family. Although it resulted in a minor ankle sprain the story seems to be as equally amusing if I had lost a foot. The saying “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” should also apply to Mexico, for my sake.
A blast of adrenaline charges throughout my body as I experience the initial drop. My body's weight shifts mechanically, cutting the snow in a practiced rhythm. The trail curves abruptly and I advance toward a shaded region of the mountain. Suddenly, my legs chatter violently, scraping against the concealed ice patches that pepper the trail. After overcompensating from a nearly disastrous slip, balance fails and my knees buckle helplessly. In a storm of powder snow and ski equipment, body parts collide with nature. My left hand plows forcefully into ice, cracking painfully at the wrist. For an eternity of 30 seconds, my body somersaults downward, moguls of ice toy with my head and further agonize my broken wrist. Ultimately veering into underbrush and pine trees, my cheeks burn, my broken wrist surging with pain. Standing up confused, I attempt climbing the mountain but lose another 20 feet to the force of gravity.