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Santa’s Chariot

January 29, 2012

When I first learned skiing, I was taught to turn as often as I can, since the turning will slow me down, and I will have more control of myself. Executing this is quite hard. I was often too afraid to turn and just went straight down, which was a no-turning back route, since then I would be going faster and faster, and I would be more afraid, and the next thing I knew, I was hitting the speeding bump at the end of the trail and I would finally stop. It is quite imaginable if they did not build the end of the trail slightly turning up, I would be hitting some concrete road. It was very adventurous, traveling at that speed and with wind blowing into my face, reminded me of my skateboarding days, super scary but super thrilling fun. My skateboard left a hickey on my chin but nowhere else (for the seven faced god’s sake),  my skiing led me to something else. One of these downhill ski runs (literally, I was heading straight downward) led me to a small tiny little bump in the middle of the trail, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, and my knee hurt like hell. I was moaning, and my husband hurriedly put his skis in a cross to indicate there was an accident there. Then the ski patrol came in a little car with a sled behind, there was even a carpet. I was loaded on the sled, and taken down to the bottom. I have to say although falling on the trail and hurting my knee really sucked, lying on the sled roaring down the trail feels awesome. It feels like I am in Santa’s cart, with moose pulling in front. After we reached the bottom, I decided that we spent an hour not skiing which is a waste of the ski lift and decided to go back. I did learn how to turn on the trail after that, with only one knee.

One year later, we went to some bigger mountain. Bigger in the sense that the easiest way down is not easy for me at all. And I could not see anything, I kept taking off my goggles and my glasses, wiping them, and putting them back, and then repeating that process every minute. Normally it would work, if I wore the goggles careful enough with all my loose hair, then it would be tight, and my hot breath would not get in to condense on the glass and blur my vision. But it did not, and it was really really cold, and with much encouragement from my husband, I thought I could do it. I took some baby turns, just enough to make going back to the top of the mountain where the chair lift was impossible. The trail was really narrow, one side looked like a cliff to me. And I took off my goggles, glasses, wiped them and put them back on. I gave up after another five meters downhill, especially after another turn, I lost my control of the skis and was crawling with people sprinting by me. Then I began panicking, and complained to my husband, “I can not do this, it is so cold, I can’t control my feet, it is too narrow, I can’t turn, I think my knee is breaking down, besides, I can’t even see anything, I wiped my goggles and glasses so many times, they made it looked like a white out “, “Uh.. it is a white out here, it is thought it was your glasses? That was funny”. “NO, it is not funny, I can’t go down any more.” So we waited until a ski patrol came and loaded me onto a Santa’s Chariot, and I began my favorite “skiing”. Since it was a tall mountain, it took a long time for us to get down. I was wrapped in the carpet and bounded on the sled. I was looking around at the storm, the lifts above me, the trees covered in snow. I looked like I was enjoying myself so much that my husband had to remind me that I claimed my knee hurt really much to request the ski patrol.

After that time, every time we went skiing, my husband would ask me to promise that I would not just claim could not do a trail to get a lift from the ski patrol.

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