Five days in Jackson Hole, Wyoming two days in Big Sky, Montana. That was my perfect spring break ski vacation. This trip I skied the hardest terrain I had ever skied in my life. In Jackson Hole, if you made a wrong turn you would fall off a 50 foot cliff; in Big Sky, I encountered some of the narrowest chutes of my life. Looking back at pictures I laugh about how I once never wanted to ski in my life.

Imagine being a five year old kid, first time skiing and falling 15 feet off the lift the first time you ever went skiing. Unfortunately, I don’t have to imagine this because I actually happened to me. I remember seeing the snow blowing on the mountain and hearing the wind hiss at me. I remember seeing the abundance of people fighting for spots in the line as if they were animals fighting for food. I remember thinking to myself why am I here? I knew something was going to go wrong. After standing in the blistering cold for 45 minutes I proceeded to get on a lift, except I didn’t get on. As the lift came at us all I could hear was my dad hollering, “LIFT UP YOUR POLES, BUTTS OUT!” I did exactly what he said except I was too short for the lift. The lift almost plowed me over, but my dad’s friend grabbed me and dragged me and tried to pull me onto the lift. As I started to sit in the lift, I felt my butt slipping and the next thing I know I was lying in the snow under the lift. I looked up and the lift wasn’t moving. Four guys ran over to me and asked if I was ok. My arm was killing me, but I just wanted to go home so I assured them I was ok. My dad and his friend were close enough where we could communicate with them, and they told me to wait at the bottom of the lift and we could go home. We stayed at the mountain for five more days, but I was stuck in the condo with my mom. I couldn’t care less about my fractured wrist; I was scared from that fall and I vowed never to get on a ski lift again.

That was when I was five years old. I never went skiing since then until 7th grade. When my dad told me that we were going to skiing again I lost it. A normal kid would be excited to go on a nice family vacation to Colorado, but not me I was furious. How could my parents do this to me? They knew that I was terrified to get back onto another chairlift and I would never go skiing again. My mom told me that if I went I wouldn’t have to ski and I could relax with her at the condo. It was better than nothing.

As I sat in the mundane condo, peering out of the windows in the white abyss, I wondered what my dad and brother were doing on the mountain. Staring at the blank cable box, I pondered upon the idea of skiing again. The whistling of the snow in your face, the adrenaline taking over your body, the views of nature, the feeling as if you’re  on top of the world. I knew what I had to do. The next day, after a seven year break I would face my fear. I would get on a lift and ski again.

I heard the clanking of ski boots stomping on the ground and the crack of the door opening as I saw my dad and my brother. I made my announcement before anyone could say anything, and the room went quiet. My parents were in disbelief, but they were ecstatic. If I went skiing my whole family would be able to ski together. My dad kept on going on about how I’m going to love this mountain and how good the snow is, but all I could think of was the lift.

The next morning I awoke to the smell of fresh, warm cinnamon rolls. I peered out of my window and another six inches of white fluff on the ground.  I told my family that we needed to hurry up, and be on the first lift so we could ski all of the powder. Of course, no one knew the real reason which was I wanted to be on the first chair to conquer my fear. As we walked to the mountain, I felt the icy breath of the wind, and was immediately reminded of falling off the lift. I kept walking to the mountain, I knew what I had to do. As we got closer to the mountain, I began to realize how massive this mountain was. I began to think of everything that could go wrong. I could die in an avalanche. I could ski into a tree. I could get run over by another skier. I began to forget about my fear of the chairlift because I realized that so much more could go wrong. The lift was such a little hazard compared to everything else on the mountain. The next thing I knew I was on a lift and I wasn’t even scared. I skied that whole day from 9am-4pm, no breaks. I found my passion for skiing that day.