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 Parents had been waiting till time I was old enough to go skiing. I was afraid at, I was a bit unsure about going down the hill but My parents assured me that the best way to learn was to just go and try my best on one of the many beginner slopes. At the time it had sounded reasonable, so I did. .
I've heard it said before; "It's easier said than done." Whoever said 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 get the heart pumping. My Parents had told me over and over again that I had to be ready for the tricky spots. Nevertheless I got full of myself and decided that I could try a black diamond slope. My parents had been trying to teach me to take sharper, shorter turns and to crouch down to maximize speed. 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. .
My older brother 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 really hard. 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.