Gabriel

                                                         Skiing - Easy Peasy

It was my first time skiing, and I was confident that I would conquer the mountain. My 8 year old self was mesmerized by the massive size of the mountain. I was at Mt. Peter in Warwick, New York and skiing for the first time. Even though I had never skied before, I was confident I would be able to master the slopes. I scanned the mountain and quickly became enamored with the silky white snow that covered the enormous mountain. The sky was a clear blue, and it was frigid outside.

My first challenge was to attach my skis to my boots. My clunky black ski boots were like space shoes. I tried to lock my boots into the bindings of my skis over and over again, until I ferociously kicked at my skis. My face was bright red, like a tomato. 

I looked at my dad, “Can you help me, please?” 

My dad walked over and expertly showed me how to attach my skis to my boots and explained that you have to put your toe in first and then push down with your heel.

Within a few tries, I was able to clip into my skis. Then, I anxiously waited for my sister, Cassie, to be ready. Cassie and I were first going to have a ski lesson, but all I wanted to do was go down the bunny hill. I was confident that I would master skiing in one afternoon.

“Are you ready? Are you ready?” I continued to ask Cassie impatiently.

Finally Cassie announced, “I’m ready, let’s go.” 

My dad started walking toward the lesson area. How do I move? I shuffled my skis back and forth across the snow, not making much progress.

“Push off like you’re ice skating,” my dad yelled back to me. 

I pushed off a few times, and quickly began breathing heavily. I stopped and took a few deep breaths. Then, I spread my skis and pushed off again. Right then left. Right then left. I was moving faster and faster, picking up speed. I was quickly approaching my dad and sister, who had stopped in front of a fenced off area. 

“How do I stop?” I yelled.

 Before my dad could answer, I abruptly collided into him and slapped into his rough, black jacket. 

“That’s why you’re going for lessons,” he remarked. 

“I don’t need lessons,” I yelled back. 

“If you don’t go for lessons, you’ll go home,” my dad responded angrily. 

I shuffled my skis across the snow to the lesson area. There isn’t even a hill. It’s like….  flat. A woman wearing a bright red jacket entered. She was the instructor and began teaching us the basics of stopping and turning, but all I heard was “blah, blah, blah.” I was certain this was easy peasy. I don’t even need lessons. The lesson finally ended, and I looked over at the slope; it was calling my name. In my young and immature eyes, the slope appeared to be almost straight down, but in reality, it was barely a slope at all. 

“Can I do the bunny hill please? Pretty please,” I begged my dad. 

Before he could respond, Cassie jumped in and said, “I don’t want to do that, it’s too steep.” 

“I don’t know, Gabe, we have to see. We should practice first,” my dad responded.

Uggghhhh, I thought to myself, just let me go, I don’t need practice. 

“Can I please just go, Daddy?” I pleaded. 

“Let’s walk over to the bunny slope and see how difficult it is,” my dad answered in an uneasy voice. 

“Fine,” I retorted in an annoyed voice. At least he is considering it. We started the trek to the bunny hill. I had moved only a few feet, but it felt like I had been going for miles. I was sweating, and my legs burned and felt like they were going to fall off at any movement. Despite the burning pain in my legs, I continued to move towards the slope; I was determined to “conquer” the mountain. 

We were barely halfway to the slope and I yelled, “It’s so far.” 

When we arrived at the bunny hill, my legs were ready to give out. I crouched down and held my hands on my knees as I took a deep breath.  

“It doesn’t look that bad,” I said looking up at the mountain, “I’m a pro at skiing.”

“Okay, you can both go if you want,” my dad said. 

“I don’t want to go,” Cassie emphatically exclaimed.

“Fine, I’ll go by myself,” I replied. 

The bunny slope was not serviced by a ski lift, but instead by a tug -- a rusty metal rope with yellow, sun stained plastic handles attached. The rope slowly moved up the mountain as beginners held onto the handles. 

“I’m going up. I'm so good, I didn’t even need those lessons,” I announced. 

I watched closely as the handles passed by. Then, I extended my arms out and grabbed the handles, and I slowly was pulled up the bunny hill. How am I going to get off? The top was quickly approaching, and before it whipped me around the bend, I quickly let go of the handle. At the top, I took my skier stance and looked down the mountain. I felt confident that I would master this bunny slope with one run, and then head to the top of the mountain for some blue trails. I gave myself a big push with my poles.

Then, it all started going bad very quickly. Uh oh! I immediately started going too fast and couldn’t maintain control. My skis slipped out from under me, I fell with a heavy whomp, and tumbled several feet down the mountain. I felt the icy snow on my cheeks. I helplessly looked around, but I was too embarrassed to ask someone for help. After a lot of twisting and heaving, I was finally able to get back up. I toyed with the idea of taking off my skis and walking down the hill, but I decided to give it another try. This time, I promised myself, I would keep control and go at a steady, slow pace, just like the instructor taught us. Despite my best intentions, I raced towards the bottom of the hill zipping past other beginners and receiving stern, angry looks from the safety patrol. It felt like I was going 1,000 miles an hour. I tried to stop, by tilting my skis inward, but it wouldn't work. Uh oh! Fence! BANG! 

                                                                --

Looking back at this experience, I realize that it is important in life to be confident, but not cocky and arrogant. In life, overconfidence can get one into trouble.  It is important to feel confident in one’s abilities, so that one is willing to learn and try new things; but not so arrogant where one isn’t willing to listen, learn and take necessary preparations. It’s a delicate balance; one must be self-assured, but not be afraid to ask for assistance and to learn from others.