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A young hero

            It was the winter of 1997, my mom and I had gone to Mt. We were staying with family friends who had a ski house right on the mountain. The view was beautiful and the weather was beautiful all four days we were up there in Vermont. I had just turned eleven years old at the time, and only skied once before, at six years old. Nevertheless, I was eager to learn. My mother hadn"t skied much before then either. She claimed to have skied plenty when she was young, but dad and I could only guess how good that made her now. .
             That Saturday morning I woke up early and ate a nice breakfast. Around eight o"clock mom and I got on the shuttle and made our way down to the mountain, neither of us really knowing what we were doing. After passing through the lengthy ski rental line it was time for us to hit the slopes. I picked up fairly quickly, and eventually I could make it down a small hill without falling. It was amazing what my mother remembered too. Yet Mt. Snow was so large, it was overwhelming and mom and I weren"t sure which slope to conquer next.
             We went looking for a beginner slope that I remember to this day was called "Sundance". We arrived at the bottom, and, pleased to see how short the line was for the lift, got on. It was about five minutes later though, I noticed the ski lift hadn"t terminated yet. "This must be some awfully large beginner slope" I thought to myself. But when mom and I reached the bitter cold peak of the mountain, we realized we had accidentally taken ourselves to the top of a double black diamond trail. The only way to the bottom was to ski.
             As experienced skiiers zoomed past us, we attempted to go down very slowly but surely. I could tell mom was nervous, and I was nearly in tears. .

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