Faithful like a dog to his master, Se7en obeys. Slicing and slashing the snow, designed with curvature, a black beast in a powder soft world. Se7en is reckless. A board infamously renowned for morbid flexibility and Brew bindings jutting out like skeletal vertebrate. This fiend wanders with authority and demands respect. Conquering victims as if it were anthill, the innocent lay fixated on the mountainside as each slice is carved into the surface. The park was worth it. Heart pounding and adrenaline lasting, I unzip and prepare for a short ascent back to the top.
Breathing deeply and observing the landscape, I ponder my next move. The terrain is my friend, but it is unforgiving; do I let this sway my opinion? Fellow riders look on from behind to see what I decide to do. My options are limited but diverse in danger. Seven years ago this decision would have proved to be simple as a rookie rider—the Bunny hill. Now as I look upon the straight edge, low slope run I feel a sense of boredom. It’s not for me. Down the goggles and complete the binding. The park calls. I wearily listen.
An individual identity is a gift granted at birth; unfortunately my gift of individualism was lost in shipping and replaced with a buy-one-get-one-free-coupon. Rather than at birth, Individualism came to me through snowboarding. It’s how I spend my winters and it’s where my mind is during the rest of the seasons. With frozen drips of snott and fingers so numb I forget they hurt, snowboarding is still the focus of my mind. Neither wind speed nor negative temperature can hold me back. I belong in the snow and the people that have witnessed my love for the powder call me Icebox.