I stood atop 10,000 feet of rock, dirt, and freshly groomed snow. People around me rushed down the mountain and my heart rate increased, remembering I would also have to make it down somehow. I had been skiing plenty of times, but this time I was strapping both my feet into a snowboard. I stood up and fell right back down, making one thing certain: this was going to be a lot more difficult than I thought. I looked around to see that there was plenty of activity on the mountain, with seasoned skiers and snowboarders alike. Seeing a few beginners, though mostly younger children, made me feel a bit better. The view of evergreens and mountain peaks as far as I could see was breathtaking. My cheeks were already stinging from the cold, but the sun …show more content…
When I finally managed to stand, I slowly slid down the mountain on my toes. I felt uncomfortable, especially when any little bump got in my way. My attempts at turning were far from the graceful carvings of snowboarders around me. Just staying upright felt like an accomplishment to me. Each time, I fell or was close to falling, but with continued hesitant slides and awkward turns, I gradually became more confident. I loosened up and allowed myself to gain some more speed. I was still quite slow, but now it was the pace that would allow me to get down the mountain by the end of the day. I let myself enjoy the view for a moment, which left my mind blank on needing to turn. Before I realized it, I was heading towards one side of the slope with trees. As I was freaking out, I tried to turn quickly, which only sent me crashing down. I woke up with my mother staring down at me in shock. "You hit a tree," my mom told me, stating the obvious. "Oops," I replied, unable to hold my laugh. I couldn't help but find hitting the tree funny because I had done it before, just on skis. My mom was less than amused because I had made her
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
Bang! Clack! The metal snowboarding lift twisted and turned over the snowy mountain. My heart pounded as I forced myself to step onto the loading dock. I scraped my boots across the metal platform reading Bittersweet Ski hill. I thought about why they don't say Snowboarding Hill. The thought shook inside me.
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.
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 always felt that I had to know or believe something with certainty. Not so now. I’ve come to realize how little I know about anything. With snowboarding that’s the point I most understand. It’s just when you think you’ve got it under control that the board goes out from under you, and you discover yourself sloshing in the congealed icy mush. Suspending judgement and having fun at the same time and being confident and assertive balances me, and I ascertain an equilibrium. Achieving balance, however, is a constantly mercurial endeavor. If you’re too careful, you’ll never carve the slopes, and if you’re not careful enough, you’ll lose the edge, and forces beyond your control will sling you into the trees or off the slope completely. I’m not anticipating all gloom and melancholy depression with all the snow and barren, gray trees standing stark against the aging night. In fact, anytime I strap on a snowboard and point it downhill, I feel the life force of fun and I can’t stop smiling. It’s just fun—there might not be a better word. On the next slope, should I go it alone? Bringing my favorite people along with me will be the greatest
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.
Snowboarding, one of the hardest snowsport to learn but easy to master, it's also one of the most enjoyable snowsport on the planet. Even though it’s fun, you can really injure yourself if your not careful. In this narrative you’ll witness the pain I had to go through trying to learn snowboarding but also witness me mastering this incredible sport. It was a cool afternoon in the frosty month of January, the time was around 5:30 pm and my dad just dropped me off at Snow Valley hill in his black Mitsubishi Lancer. I took my blueish green Burton Custom snowboard from the back of the car, grabbed my helmet, gloves, jacket and snowpants and went to the bottom of the hill. There I placed my board on the soft snow and put on my gear. I was wearing a blue jacket with dark
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.
stood upon, was frightening. The only was to go was down. I took a deep
Thin air encompasses me as I commence the final day of skiing at Vail, Colorado. Seven days of skiing elapse rather painlessly; I fall occasionally but an evening in the Jacuzzi soothes my minor aches. Closing time approaches on the final day of our trip as I prepare myself for the final run of the vacation. Fresh off the ski lift, I coast toward the junction of trails on the unoccupied expert face of the mountain. After a moment of thought, I confidently select a narrow trail so steep that only the entrance can be seen from my viewpoint.
Unsure of his exact location, cold and growing weary he started his tedious climb up what he thought was the northern side of the peak, he was unsure how he got to where he was, but his best guess was that when he was the origin of a small avalanche. His last memory before his startling awakening in his would be snowy grave was snowboarding. It had been just after lunch and he thought he would try some new terrain. He laced up his snowshoes, and proceeded to climb to the highest point of the mountain.
A Time To Ski One warm, sunny summer day, my family and I went to Tennessee. When we arrived in Tennessee, we went straight to the lake and got our boat. Our boat is a Mastercraft speedboat, it pulls many skiers and tubers on it. When we got in the boat, we went out on the lake.
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 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.