As I prepared to make my first run, which ended in embarrassment and pain, I took a second to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up there. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, was much more powerful. Its cold bite found my nose. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, prompting me to zip my jacket over my chin. It’s strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really didn’t appear that high anymore. If I were only a couple of feet taller, I suspected I could reach my hand into them. As I gazed out ov

Some topics in this essay:
Rocky Mountains, Wicked Arriving, Breckenridge Colorado, rest wicked,