How I Fell in Love... With Downhill Skiing ⛷️
Because it is obviously the best sport ever
My alarm blares, shaking me out of my sleep. I pull my clothes on and roll up some extra layers, tossing them into my aged but sturdy backpack. After fuelling up with a healthy breakfast and packing a lunch, I grab my winter gear and hop in the car with my family. The sky is still dark at this time of year but I know it will not be that way for long. As we drive to the hill, I watch the landscape change from snow-covered grasslands to hilly fields, and finally, the large tree-crusted hill appears on the horizon.
Excitement flares in my stomach as the place comes into view. Our car stops and I clamber out ungracefully, my limbs stiff from the ride. We carry our bags to the ski lodge, finding a safe place to store them for the day and head over to the rental shop. As I walk in, I am greeted by the same familiar smell of cleaning products. It is not unpleasant, exactly, just distinctive and memorable. The line is not too long this early in the morning and we do not wait long to give our already filled-out forms to the staff member behind the desk.
Helmets are handed over and tried on. Then, we scour the shelves of ski boots, each person looking for their size. I grab a pair, placing my regular boots in the spot from which I took the ski boots. My feet are clothed in a pair of my favourite outdoor thermal socks over a pair of regular ones for maximum warmth, something I will be grateful for on a day like today. After sliding my feet into the ski boots, I buckle them up, savouring the satisfying snap! they make. They feel tight and secure, stiff but somehow comforting at the same time. Walking is funny with the awkward way my knees are forced to bend while standing.
My family and I walk over to the ski station to pick up our rental skis and take them outside. I set mine on the ground, gently slipping the front of my boot in and slamming my heel down until it clicks. The four of us ski over to the chair lift, waiting in line for our turn. When our turn arrives, we ski forward to the line in the snow as the chair comes from behind, scooping us up. The bar goes down and we enjoy the view of the ski runs below.
We reach the top of the hill and exit the lift, heading to the same run we always start the day with. And then, the magic happens. This run is an easy one and I get faster as my skis glide smoothly over the glimmering snow. The sky has lightened so I wear sunglasses to shield my eyes from the brightness all around me, pumping my legs to propel my body forward. A steeper slope arrives, giving me a burst of speed and I revel in the moment, wishing it could never end.
Small trails off the side of the run catch my attention. I direct my skis on one of them and enjoy the thrill of the dips and bumps on these less-well-travelled parts. One dip is bigger than the rest, making my stomach leap as I am lifted partly off the ground, only to land back on the run. Some parts are slower and require more exertion but I soon arrive at the bottom of the hill, the first in my family. I wait for them to catch up, eager to go up and down again.
Our second run is shorter but steeper with fewer flat portions. We take a shortcut to get there, familiar with every nook and cranny of our little ski hill. As always, I take the lead, not out of a desire to be first but simply because the others are too slow. This run is the widest, giving me lots of space to swerve in dramatic turns for extra amusement. As I glide effortlessly, I remember the first time I took this run. How slow I went, nervous and unsteady, never having taken a blue square run before.
Now, I gaze at the snowy landscape as I whoosh downward. A light snow begins to fall, creating a sublime atmospheric effect. The coniferous trees on each side are clothed in majestic shades of green, bringing a splash of colour to an otherwise bland location. This is all too perfect, I cannot help but think. How I love spending a day in God’s creation.
My sister and I then take the T-bar together to go on the run furthest to the right side. It can be accessed by the chairlift, but this way is more fun, and there is hardly ever a line. We stand side by side, myself on the left and her on the right as is our custom. Once the T-bar is within our reach, we grab it securely and let it pull us up the hill. With one hand on the pole in the middle and the other on the small piece of wood behind me, I relax and get lost in thought. The slope steepens, making me feel a pull in my calves.
There is something so quaint about this old T-bar. Not many people take it, preferring the faster and easier-to-ride chairlift, so it does not see much traffic. I, however, have to disagree with the majority on this. The T-bar may take longer and not have cushioned seats, but the experience of it all is so much better. It is almost like uphill skiing if that were a thing. To have ones skis on the ground while ascending this narrow path bordered by thick forest away from the hustle and bustle of other areas of the ski resort is far superior.
We reach the top, dismounting the lift, and head to the run. This one is the steepest of the non-black-diamond runs, meaning that one can pick up a lot of speed without getting out of control. I begin to descend, faster as I go. It is just the hill and I, the rest of the world fading away. Harsh winds sting my face but feel strangely comforting amidst the mild pain.
Exhilaration fills my whole body, an overwhelming sensation of freedom and power. I direct my skis exactly where I want them to go and they follow wherever I wish. Here, I am not beholden to any arbitrary rules. There is no one to tell me that I am doing things wrong or to speak in ways I fail to comprehend. This is what it feels like to be alive.
I am gliding, almost flying, faster than I have ever gone before. Everything is a blur but my feet know just where to go, having taken this run year after year. Strange feelings rise within me; I want to scream, to cry, to sing, to do all three at once. And then, it is all over. The slope flattens out, slowing me down. Turning behind, I see my sister coming down, her matching coat and snow pants easily noticeable against the white background. Adrenaline still pumps through me, my heart rate going fast. There is nothing in the world like skiing.
We go inside for a quick break to warm up. Then, I go on the black diamond runs alone, as no one else in my family feels up to the challenge. This one is the steepest run there but I navigate it easily, having first taken it a decade ago. I go slower here, making sharp turns as I ski to avoid losing control and falling. Hours pass by while I do each run, stopping for lunch and heading back out. It is not often that my family comes here and I want to get the most I can out of it.
Up and down I go, over and over. I play around with as many variations as I can, taking shortcuts and extra trails just for the fun of it. Some runs have large artificially-made snow mounds that I ride over, getting a bit of air on the last ones. Eventually, I tire out. My feet ache in the ski boots and the temperature has started to drop. Along with my family, I pop my skis off and go to the rental shop to return them. Sitting on a bench, I bend over to remove the ski boots and put my regular boots back on, surprised by how light my feet feel when I stand up.
Walking takes a bit to adjust to. I can straighten my knees while standing and run up and down stairs, quite a novelty after hours of not being able to. My family and I head home, but my mind is still on the ski hill. Sensations of skiing run through my body; it is easy to imagine that I am skiing at this very moment. Today has been amazing, and there is no way anyone will ever convince me that skiing is not the best sport in existence.1
The first time I went skiing was on a school trip when I was eight years old. Before going, I did not know much at all about skiing and was not sure what to expect, so I stayed on the little training hill for the whole time. Yet I became entranced that day. Skiing was fun, and unlike many other sports, it is done individually. There was no running around aimlessly in a gym hoping that someone just might toss or kick the ball to me nor was there throwing of any kind involved. No teammates, no points, no fouls, no confusing rules, and most importantly, no objects flying at my head smacking me in the face and giving me a nosebleed.
I went on every ski trip my schools did and skied many times with my family. Nearly every time, I had a blast. Ski days make up some of the most memorable moments of my tween and teen years.
My second-ever diary entry on Thursday, January 16, 2014, contains an account of my grade five school ski trip in which I described myself as “[waking] up with exitement [sic] and gloriously wonderful thoughts in [my] mind.” Over a year later, on Wednesday, March 11, 2015, I mentioned that going to the ski hill “felt like I was back home.”
There was one bad ski day I had, however. It was literally one day short of two years later, on Friday, January 15, 2016, and a few too many things went wrong. I took my ski boots off at lunch and had such difficulty putting them on again because my feet swelled up which really freaked me out. In my own words, “I got really sad and scared and started crying. Then finally I got my ski boots on.” (As you can see, I was kind of a horrible writer. I hope I am slightly better now.) Then, while riding the chairlift, I dropped one of my fancy new gloves which was greatly distressing to me as well. As I wrote:
When we got off the chairlift, J [my sister] + I crashed. More likely, J crashed into me! I started crying. Badly. What was there to cry about? I was going skiing. Well at that very moment It felt like everything. My favourite glove was lost, my hands and feet were Freezing, J had just crashed into me, My 2nd favourite run was closed, It was all foggy, the windchill on my face was unbearable, My feet were big, and Mom didn’t let me go on my 1st favourite run… because it was too foggy.
I am really not sure why I randomly capitalized the first letter of some of those words. Anyway, I did get my glove back and then Dad and I returned our rentals while my mom and sister skied some more. Then the fog went away, so my mom and sister did my favourite run without me, something I was not impressed with.
All the other times were much better than that, though. I did all the runs on Friday, February 17, 2017, as they were all open. Thursday, February 22, 2018, was a notable date as the first (and only) time I went skiing at a different ski resort, and it was in the mountains. The place was so much bigger than I was used to, and I maybe… kinda… got a bit lost. Overall, it was so great to experience skiing in a way that I had never done before.
Some times I went skiing in my years of high school were on Wednesday, February 20, 2019, Friday, January 3, 2020, and Thursday, February 20, 2020, which I believe is the last time I ever went skiing as I have no records, whether written or photographic, beyond this date. It has been nearly five years since then and I miss it dearly.
So, I wrote this post to remember my love of skiing and all the great memories I have of going skiing. Going on ski trips has always been my highlight of the winter, even more than celebrating Christmas. Skiing is pure freedom. There is truly nothing else in this world like speeding down a snowy hill, the wind rushing by. Everything about it is perfect.
The gorgeous evergreen trees framing each ski run.
The snowflakes falling all around.
The cold, fresh air I breathe in so deeply.
The exhilarating thrill of whooshing downward.
The time I wipe out and my ski flies off.
Well, maybe not quite everything.
On a ski day, I savour every moment.
This is a fictionalized account of a ski trip with my family that is not meant to describe any ski trip in particular. Rather, it is based on a typical experience of a ski day with inspiration from several ski trips I went on.
My one experience skiing in the mountains ended in major surgery so I cannot relate to your love of the sport ☺️
What is truly beautiful, however, is seeing the sport through your eyes. You make it so vividly wonderous - almost like maybe I should have tried it again!
Great story well written!
I share the love of nature
In winter it was cross country skiing for me.