It’s quiet up here. The wind is calm, the trees are still, the snow lay underneath me unmoving. My lungs are the only things moving.
Inhale. Exhale.
It’s a peaceful place the top of mountain. The wintery earth spreads our for miles around me, tall evergreens sprinkled with snow like powdered sugar as far as the eye can see. It’s a kind of peace a person feels before the storm, before the rush of adrenaline.
I’m at the top of a mountain in Vermont. Now it’s no Kilimanjaro or Mount Everest, but it does the job. My feet are secured into stiff boots which are in turn buckled into a pair of skis, grounding me, holding me down. But no matter the weight, one look at the sky, the snow, the trees—one breath of that crisp winter air and I may as well have wings. It feels like freedom. It smells and tastes like freedom.
Inhale.
Pure, unadulterated winter air fills my lungs and courseing through my body, heightening all of my senses.
Exhale.
The stress and tension from my body is released making my body feel as light as a feather despite the four layers of winter clothing I’m wearing.
It’s almost time.
A slight breeze tickles the mountain top. I get a rush of excitement. My heart starts to pound, my hands tingle with anxiousness as I grip my poles. I’m almost ready. I look out at the sprawling green hills around me one last time and then look down to face my competitor. The hair on my neck stands tall, my eyes widen, my jaw goes slack: I can’t actually see the ski slope. My destination awaits clearly at the bottom, but the way to it isn’t there.
That familiar fear begins to boil in the pit of my stomach but I force it down.
Inhale.
I let go. My skis roll over the edge and I start to fly. The snow crunches and carves as I rush down. The adrenaline roars past my ears making me deaf to my own fear allowing me to give into the speed. Left, right, left, right. I bend my knees and pump, shifting my position garnering even more speed. The cold air cuts through my face mask and goggles. My eyes are tearing up and my cheeks sting, but it feels so right. I feel like I’m gliding across clouds, flying through the air. It’s just me and the mountain. All the stresses and problems in my life slip away into the cold air streaming past me. This is as close to freedom I can get and it feels utterly incredible.
The base of the mountain approaches all too soon. I carve more readily into the snow to reduce my speed. The roar in my ears dies down, my cheeks burning from the cold. I relax and release the tension in my legs as they hurt with the congratulatory dull pain that comes after working them hard.
Exhale.
My lungs relax, my shoulders drop.
I turn around to face my competitor straight in the face– it stares back at me with its cold, hard glare daring me to defy the unstoppable energy I possessed after conquering it.
I turn my back and make my way towards the lift line.
One more time.
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