The Trip / Matt Tortorelli

The Trip

As I pushed myself forward, I panicked as it swung around the corner. I had no other option but to keep skiing forward at this point. All of a sudden, I was swooped up by the chair and my skis were dangling below me.

Then, a metal bar falls over my lap with a loud BANG! It gives me a little jolt but I am able to settle down again quite soon. When I look below me, with my skis seemingly hanging onto my feet for dear life, the skiers beneath me slowly become small insects pushing and carving with each movement the snow under their skis.

The whooshing sound of it being molded over and over again with each ski bottom is very relaxing along with the new england smell of the log-cabin style homes burning the maple wood and the evergreen trees on either side of me.

The coldness of the seat was starting to bother me, but I was still piping hot inside my ski jacket. The chilly wind was blowing the snow into my face in an unbearable manner. Last year, I don’t remember the weather being this crazy.

Now, the wind was really picking up and the snow began to feel like small blades and frozen metal cutting into my skin.

Up ahead, I could start to see where the lift would drop me off so I started to uncross my skis and get my poles into my hands and lift the bar. When I had the bar over my head, a wave of panic came over me once again as a sudden fear of heights got into my head.

With both my skis straight and pointed up, and my poles in my right hand with a tight grip, I pushed myself forward at the speed of the lift now behind me. The rush of exhilaration from finally doing that myself was great.

Curving down the ramp and looking down the hill was an amazing sight. Four years ago on my first ski trip however, was a very different story. Now, I almost felt fearless, like I could accomplish anything after this.

The wind started to pick up with the momentum of me going down the mountain, in a side to side motion now doing what I earlier saw on the lift; the skiers zooming down the mountain carving the snow beneath them.

I then realize that I have absolutely no idea what to do if somebody faster comes up behind me, do I go to the side and let them pass, or go faster? I was so grateful that I didn’t see or hear anybody behind me so I wouldn’t have to deal with that scenario.

The snow beneath my skis slowly begins to turn into ice, I can feel the transformation with each turn I make, unsure whether or not I will hit an ice patch and fall. AHH! I know that I must have just coincidentally hit an ice patch because the last thing I know, I have slipped somehow and I am now lying on my side on the side of the hill. I manage to get myself back up and continue on my way back down the hill.

The swaying rhythm of my feet comes back to me and soon I am back on track heading down the mountain, determined to finish.

Excitement builds up inside me and fills every part of my body as I see the bottom of the mountain. This would be my first ski run by myself, and also probably the last judging by the pain shooting up from the bottom of my feet.

Just when I cross the line denoting the bottom of the slope, I feel both a rush of excitement and exhilaration, and accomplishment. I also can’t wait to get the skis off because of the pain too, so I coast to the lodge at the bottom of the park and figure out how to get the skis off my boots.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *