The Ski Trip Essay

Pursuing a university degree while continuing to ski race at a high level is my main goals for the next four years. I strive to find balance between school and sport while pursuing excellence in both. Growing up and learning how to ski on limited snow in Nova Scotia has given me a deep appreciation of all the wonderful ski centers Canada has to offer. I developed my love for skiing on the 2.5 km of trails that Martock Nordic Ski Club groomed near Windsor, NS, those small trails sparked my interest in skiing and have kept me loving skiing ever since. When deciding what to do after high school, I knew that I wanted to continue ski racing, but also continue with my education.

This part of the run is not difficult for me, which is good because my mind is already focused on the cliff that I know is about 100 feet down the ridge and 50 feet on my left (north). Waiting for my turn at the top, I had lots of time to sit and think about what I was about to do, igniting my nerves and adrenaline, making my body feel numb. I ski to my spot above the cliff, and the iconic House Rock looks like it always does, almost like a fifty foot diving board that will shoot you out half-way down the rest of the mountain. I stop right above the point of no return. I must choose to hit the cliff or not. There is no turning back once I move from this spot.

The feeling of fear excites me, an ecstasy of joy trickles into my veins. In a quick moment I make a choice and the adrenaline surges as I boost off a massive cliff, with a thud and a mushroom cloud of powder, snow drifts onto my face. With each line persuading me towards the life of a ski bum, living in a van, going from mountain to mountain, meeting new people and experiencing new thrills.

Omg! I am going to have so much fun snowboarding! Today in my life I am at a super cool place. It’s in the UP and it’s called Ski Brule. It has all the snow hills you could possibly think about. I could never stop imagine me going down the hill and be so proud of me. But hopefully I don’t break any bones in my body. Because I still have basketball in the winter. But after I just took a soft energize nap. Then… We arrived. OM to the G! It was exactly what I imagined. The people gliding through the snow with their cool snowboards and their ski’s.

Despite enjoying the antics of the little ones, I couldn’t procrastinate much longer. It was time to face the music and meet my cross country ski instructor. I was surprised to feel nervous, after all how difficult could cross country skiing be? For years, I have avidly watched the Olympic Winter Games and the cross country athletes appear to circumnavigate the course without difficulty. Surely I would be able to kick, stride and glide with the best of them. My fearless instructor Bryon introduced himself to the group and welcomed us to our session. With a calm confidence he assured us that we would love our new sport and be tackling the trails in no time. Hesitantly, I followed Bryan and within seconds I was on the ground doing a fantastic Bambi impersonation. This was trickier than it

The wind is harsh and piercing as the gusts reach up to 50 mph. Even layers upon layers of clothing do very little to protect people from the harshness of the cold unrelenting wind. The snow on the ground would blind them as they trekked across the barren wastelands of snow and wind. As they all began to peal back their layers of masks to speak, the pain of the fierce wind immediately ran across their faces. It felt as if a stroke of lightning had ran across their faces and down their throats with every breath of the icy wind. Each one speaks with the same raspy bark from the brutal cold ravaging their vocal chords. The wind laced its way through their clothes like it was not even there and chilled them all to the bones.

Carefully, we picked our way through the snowfields and knee-high brush until we began to notice wisps of fog around us. We had entered the cloud. Soon, all we could see when we looked behind us were streams of pale white. When the clouds cleared for a moment I managed to get a picture. The ridge stretched back behind us, dotted with blue-white ice, and off in the distance the bright Homer spit stretched into the deep blue ocean like a knife through butter. I don’t know if I have seen anything more beautiful before or since

Every year, my family goes skiing. Our favorite place, by far, is Telluride. The drive into town is windy, steep, and can get pretty scary. While snow pelts the windshield and the wind makes the car swerve slightly, one may wonder whether the journey into town is worth it. But it so is. I’ve never seen something so breathtaking as when we crossed over that final

Once my dad arrived, we were on our way. I jumped out into the first park that we came to and the fresh new powder exalted me. We then rode over to our friend's cabin to say hello and have a Pepsi. We asked our friend, Bob to come along for the ride and he was delighted to join us. From there we cut across flat lined Twin Lake and then across the untracked Eggleston Lake. To my unpleasant surprise, we approached the lodge, and sleds were buzzing around like crows on road kill. Ten miles down the road I expected to, at least, see some other people riding, but we had the whole mountain to ourselves. We rode from mountain to mountain, crossing open drainages and gigantic playgrounds of snow one after another.

A few winters ago, some friends invited my family and me to go snow skiing at Paoli Peaks, Indiana. I did not know how to snow ski, and I leaped at the thought of trying this new sport. On the first morning we entered the pro shop to rent all the gear and make decisions about whether or not to take lessons or go it alone. We decided to be adventurous and go it alone—no lessons. Kent and Celeste, the friends who invited us, knew how to ski and snowboard. He assured us that he could show us the basics, and we would be on our way down the slopes. All of us, after a few minutes learning how to wedge our skis started down the family trail. Although the family trail had smaller hills and appeared safe, to me it seemed way too fast and dangerous. I fell several times before making it to the bottom and started having doubts about whether I’d ever be able to really enjoy the sport. By the end of the first day, however, I was not only flying down the family trail but was going down black diamond trails with just a little nervousness.

The cold air brushing up against my bare skin, the soft flakes of snow landing on top of my head. "must keep going" I thought, "just keep going". My vision was beginning to get blurry, white patches began to show up on the bottom of my feet. The blurriness was getting so bad I stopped my run and began to waddle back and forth on the trail. My legs give out, my knees collapse under me and I fall onto the soft piles of snow on either side of the trail. The long beautiful trees dripping with snow looked like they came out of a fairy tale, the beauty was almost unrealistic. My eyes drift close and my body shuts down from the cold. Just before my eyes are completely shut I see the creature running across the trail its very hairy and has a long

It was a chilly Sunday afternoon with blue skies and all the makings for a good day of early season skiing on that fateful November afternoon. The day was winding down, the Broncos had just kicked off, and my friends and I had just leapt off the chairlift to embark on our last run of the day. All was well on the way down, a blur of orange jerseys rushing by as I sped down the mountain making the most of the last run of my day. Upon our final few turns of the afternoon, I found myself in a predicament that would later shape me into the person I am today.

I slowly crept around a corner engraved by the trail of smashed snow, getting ready for the huge drop. Of course, I made my uncle go first because like always, I am a scaredy cat. He softly drifted smoothly across the surface, spraying snow all around the backs of the skis. Turning around, asking for an applause, he smiled and chuckled like the hill was a breeze. My huge feet clomped loudly on the surface of the snow. I positioned myself forward and pushed off with my poles. The rushing wind paralyzed my face as I tried to focus on my path. The bushy trees zoomed past me, giving me this rush of adrenaline. I finally came to a halting stop right next to my uncle and waited for the others to join

The ground beneath the stiff leaves lies frozen. I hear sound of leaves crackling underneath my thick boots which each step I take. As I wander aimlessly, the cold, brisk air invades my lungs. I exhale slowly, I see my shaky breath float away from me. The scenery is nothing special, black trees covered in moss, very few hills, rocks in no set trail, and above all else, endless layers of Texas snow (not really snow, just an ice layer maybe 1/3 of an inch).

My skis are an extension of my legs, of my body, of my being. I feel every flake of snow, every patch of ice, and every stone concealed beneath the blanket of white wonder. Racing down Christmas Tree Gully, I am untouched by fear as I weave between trees and boulders; shooting down the steep gradient without considering speed. The guarded part of my mind is suppressed by exhilaration and replaced with spontaneity. I do not calculate each cut my edges make through the mountain, rather I allow the topography to take me downhill, a river finding its way to the mouth of the sea. Everything around me flourishes as I flow across the blank surface. The snow is untouched, except for the occasional prints of the black-capped