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Skiing: A Fond Rememberance
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Skiing: A Fond Rememberance
The admirable Triage Protagonist 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 di...
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