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I can still remember the first time I went downhill skiing. It was a cold and dry November day. It hadn't been snowing much at the time, so most of the snow on the hills was that slick, jet blown, artificial-ice / pseudo -snow. Not exactly what a first timer likes to start on. My friend Michael had been trying to talk me into going on a skiing trip with him and the local Boy Scout troop for some time.
I was afraid at first; I had heard many over-exaggerated stories from people who had claimed foul play, on the part of gravity, while skiing. So naturally I was a bit skeptical, but Michael assured me that the best way to learn was to just go all out and try my luck on one of the many intermediate slopes. At the time it had sounded reasonable, so I did. I've heard it said before; "It's easier said than done. " Whoever coined that one knew what he was talking about.
The first couple of hills I only rolled, head over heels, down. After that, I graduated to skidding down on my backside, and then on to what could pass for actually skiing. It was great, flying over the packed snow, fighting for balance and dodging trees. It was enough to pump your heart straight through your ribcage. Michael had told me over and over again that I had to be ready for the tricky spots, or I'd be telling a nurse that the light at the end of the tunnel is an over-exaggeration. Nevertheless I got cocky and decided that I could try a black diamond slope.
Michael had been trying to teach me to take sharper, shorter turns and to crouch down to maximize speed. Now, to an experienced skier these can be handy skills, but to a novice, they end up being just one more thing to think about while going 40 M. P. H. I tried to crouch down and pick up some speed and ended up doing an aerial front flip with a two point header right into a patch of ice crusted snow.
I lay there for several minutes, wondering if the cold I felt was my body going numb. I had thought that that fancy trick had killed me, but it wasn't my time. It only left me with a bloody nose and a cut chin. I was very disappointed, I thought that at least a cracked vertebrae was deserving of my efforts. Michael pulled up next to me with tears in his eyes and a look on his face that could only come from someone who has just laughed his ass off.
I told him that I had had enough of skiing and would meet him in the lodge. Little did I realize that the lodge was, in fact, near the bottom of the hill, and I was not yet past the halfway point. What followed was reminiscent of a failed Olympic tumbling match, in which I was the unlucky gymnast, and the hill my mat. Had I been of sound mind and body, I would have thought to record the ordeal in hopes of winning on America's Funniest Home Videos. Crawling into the ski lodge, I could barely make out my surroundings through the layer of ice that had formed on my eyeballs. I managed to find a chair and started to thaw when my pal of pals waltzed in the door and began to coax me back onto the hills for more of what he called fun.
I slugged him with a frostbitten fist and told him he owed me a week in the sun.
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Research essay sample on Michael Skiing Time
