S is for Skiing
I remembered watching a professional skier on television. He reached top speeds of about 25 miles an hour and I told my dad that I was interested in skiing. Our family relatives decided that we were going to do for winter break and we decided to take a trip to Utah. It was around a 5 hour drive and we finally arrived at a city called, “Brian Head.” My dad learned that there was a nearby ski resort and all of my cousins wants to go skiing. Our parents took us to the ski resort and decided to put us all in ski school. I thought that it would be easy because the professional skier made it look easy. My arrogance was an obstruction to my skiing experience because I thought that I didn’t need the instructor’s help. I continually
fell on my butt over and over. Finally, it started to get sore and I decided to listen to my instructor. He told me that I wasn’t breaking the right way and that I needed to make a ‘pizza’ like formation. He went on to teach my the basics and how you need to make the ‘’french fry’’ in order to break. After hours of coaching, I become really good in just one day. Sadly, by the time I was intermediate, it was time to go back home. However, one year later, we came back to the same resort and we decided to go up the huge slopes. We had so much fun because we were able to achieve heights and speed that we thought were impossible to. We learned new maneuvers and how to use our feet to control where we would go. After two runs, It was time for lunch and we had to go in because we were all famished. We ordered a family-sized pizza and it was one of the best pizzas I’ve ever eaten. Each of us ate around 5 slices of pizza and it was time to skiing again. We took the same slope and it was so much fun, it felt like it was different each time we skied down the slope. I knew that it was the same path, but to me, it felt like I was going down a path, very unfamiliar to me. Finally, they announced that the ski resort would be closing and that we needed to leave. It was a fun experience for me and I hope to go skiing again in the future at the same resort.
Success is not given, it is earned. Waking up for a 5am skating practice is nobody’s ideal Wednesday morning, especially for a hormonal teenager like myself. However, satisfaction of landing a new jump or learning a new spin does not come from letting our ‘wants’ buyout our dreams. “By the time we’d finished, we were amazed at how much the book had taught us: about ourselves.” I don’t always succeed, nor do I always expect to. Throughout all the morning practices and late night workouts, failure is something I have learned from. I remember giving up on myself countless times after falling on a jump or not turning my edges properly, as if I had ‘writer's-block,’ feeling completely numb. Nevertheless, succeeding was the easy part, it was learning to grow into the 6 year old singing, confident, child again, and defeating the numbness. I have learned, along the way, people are going to try to undercut your success or take credit for your hard work. However, it is the end product that matters. It will be I who knows how to complete a program, or I who knows how to work hard. Staying focused as the athlete I am, not letting people side track me, builds the confidence to know ‘I finished the
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 jumped on the boulder and there I stood one jump away from gaining back my popularity. Looking at the cold ice had already given me shiver. I counted to three and jumped, I had broken the ice feet first. Beneath the ice was dark and extremely cold. I wasn’t able to see anything; I was frightened that I wouldn’t find my way back. It was an unusual feeling, like time had stopped and everything was moving slow. I ran out of breath and eventually found my way back. The whole school assumed that I had died from coldness and wouldn’t come back up. After warming up, it was the new kids turn to jump. Everyone waited but he couldn’t jump he choked. I was glad and proud of myself for overcoming my anxiety. The quote by Amit Ray really inspired me and will never be forgotten: “If you want to conquer the anxiety of life, live in the moment, live in the breath.”
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
A few winters ago, some friends invited my family and me to go snow skiing at Paoli Peaks, Indiana. I did not know how to snow ski, and I leaped at the thought of trying this new sport. On the first morning we entered the pro shop to rent all the gear and make decisions about whether or not to take lessons or go it alone. We decided to be adventurous and go it alone—no lessons. Kent and Celeste, the friends who invited us, knew how to ski and snowboard. He assured us that he could show us the basics, and we would be on our way down the slopes. All of us, after a few minutes learning how to wedge our skis started down the family trail. Although the family trail had smaller hills and appeared safe, to me it seemed way
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
80 countries have some form of ski area. Also, for the past 4 years skier visits have been estimated at around 400 million. Alpine, Cross-country and telemark are all types of skiing and at least one of them is likely to interest anyone.
Pieter and I were determined to become proficient water skiers, while Rhea had knee issues that limited her participation. The Gibson Girl only had a forty horsepower motor, which wasn’t sufficient power for faster skiing or for doing tricks like skiing barefoot. I remember using the Comfort for some of our skiing before Dad traded the outboard for a sixteen-foot Gar Wood Junior, which had an inboard motor and more power. Pieter and I spent hours practicing the basics of getting up efficiently, skiing across the wake and then jumping the wake. It wasn’t long before we developed a passion for mastering slalom skiing. I wanted to ski all the time during that period.
stood upon, was frightening. The only was to go was down. I took a deep
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.
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.
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.
I was only ten years old when I began learning how to ride a bike which wasn’t easy for me but got the hang of like any other person would. My family members were annoyed of me constantly asking for someone to teach me. I wanted my own bike just like my sisters and be able to ride along with them and not bother with their rude remarks of not being able to ride a bike. So my father decided to help me learn in front of my building in the summer until I was able to ride on my own. My father's reason for teaching was for us to spend more quality time together since he was always working. It took me three weeks to learn due to the small accident I had which help me learn a valuable lesson.