Snow Valley

Skiing is one of many interesting sports to play during winter. For my family, this year was our first time and it would be at Snow Valley. We have no proper equipment of our own so we were renting it from there. Since it is our first time, how does skiing work? How do I stop? What happens after I fall? Are goggles really necessary? These questions bounced through my mind, throwing it into chaos. Luckily, Arissa's family, an experienced group, was accompanying us and I bombed them with my questions. How do I turn? Do I need poles? How do I ski? Apparently, it would “come naturally” and it would be “simple”.

The next day, we left and headed for Snow Valley. When we pulled to a stop, a skier glided down a steep hill and skidded to a stop while spraying a cloud of snow everywhere. He laughed as another skier zoomed down right after. Just beside that hill, or mountain, was a bigger, steeper … drop. Skiers flew down one after the other and made it look simple.

After a big hustle, our equipment was ready. The ski boots seemed exceptionally heavy as we hobbled our way to the bunny hill. Snapping on the skis, I gazed up at the hill, but it was more of a slant. It was almost flat and just had the slightest tilt possible. That was how it looked from the bottom. Looking down, from the top, it seemed to turn much steeper, dipping down into a big line of amateur skiers. So how do I stop again? What are the poles for? As my brain turned into a whirlwind, my skis began sliding on their own accord. Not long after, they completely lost control and the world started to whoosh by. There was suddenly a fallen boy in my path who didn’t seem to be getting up. I tried leaning towards one side but it was too much. The trees around me began shaking and my skis gave way. The trees flipped and I heard my sister zoom by, out of control too. My back thumped the snow and everything paused. I fell but how do I get up? Managing to sit up, my feet were stuck in an awkward position. The too long skis crossed each other and jutted out disproportionally. After a few minutes of tumbling I was somehow back on my feet. The rest of the way down was slower and calmer; no one was in my way and the slope was ending.

After a few more tries, the same hill became boring. I learned how to stop and it was getting constant. The same ridges and creases, the same distance. Just a few meters to the right, was yet another hill, slightly taller and steeper, but at beginner level. Just as I started descending, my skis found a bump and sent me flailing. Then came a crease and then a slant. A bit further down, the snow was hardened with the excessive use and felt like ice. One way or another I survived without falling. By just the second try, this hill was also mastered.

An hour passed, and it felt like the time to move on beyond the bunny hills and to a real hill. The ones that require a ski lift. The lift took forever, slowly pulling everyone higher and higher until trees became people and people became ants. After we got off, up front was a map of the different hills showing the level of difficulty. There was one green route that seemed okay and we headed towards it.

Dipping down, the wind whipped in my face, blowing and blowing until tears sprung out. I wished I had grabbed a goggle. The trees alongside the trail blurred and threatened to get in the way. Everything seemed to be yelling: slow down, slow down! but my feet were stuck in a pathetic pizza form. The poles extended on either side of my body and were used as a balancing device. After what seemed like eternity, the ground became flat once more.

I went on again once, then twice, then 3 times, but never seemed to be able to control my speed. Other skiers were able to glide down slowly like a feather instead of a boulder. Their feet were agile and they twisted their body to form Z shapes. On the 5th try, blundering down without a care was not an option. One must start slow from the beginning to avoid gathering so much speed that stopping would be impossible. I tried mimicking the other skiers’ movements and was able to form S’s. It wasn’t as useful as Z’s but it still slowed down the speed.

As I came to a stop at the bottom of a blue level hill, Arissa slid up to me and asked if I wanted to try a black diamond. It couldn’t be that hard, but when I stared up at the top, it was almost impossible. No way would I survive so I went back to my blue.

Arissa came again after a couple more minutes passed. Again, I turned down the black diamond. When I finished another round of the blue square hill, I stopped for a drink. A skier was easily drifting down the black diamond hill, and to my surprise, it was as 6-year-old girl! Now this hill couldn’t be so hard.

Wrong. At the top of the hill, the bottom was under my nose, but far, far, away. Skier after skier zipped down into the bottom and I glanced over at Arissa with uncertainty. At a speed like this, one tiny bump can send anyone out of control. Yes, it is steep, but on the plus side, it is shorter than the other hills. Arissa was gone. She was already twisting her way down the hill. Starting to turn back, I realized I couldn’t. My skis were sliding inch by inch. There was no turning back. The Swahili saying raced through my mind. Polepole, polepole, polepole. At first, it wasn’t so bad. Then, my skis met a bump and were stuck in a forward motion, gaining speed. I was sliding in a green corridor with a white ground. The wind was forcing tears out and blurred my vision. A drop materialized out of nowhere and I jerked out of the way. My eyes strained to see my path, too scared to blink away the tears. Hair was whipping around in a frenzy and it threatened to stick to my face. When it appeared that I was going to fall, the ground straightened and Arissa was standing there smiling. I wiped away the wetness in my eyes and brushed away my hair. There was no way I’d be going back there until I was truly ready.

When we were heading home, I just couldn’t help going back to the time I went down the black diamond hill. Maybe someday, I would be able to master those too.