Abby’s experience
Wind rushed past my hair as I stumbled off the ski lift, immediately fighting for balance. I heard panicked shouts of my name behind me as I flailed my arm, searching for something to grab on to and narrowly avoiding taking out everyone else trying to dismount. Somehow, I managed to stay upright.
Standing at the top of the green slope, I was frozen in both fear and anticipation. From here, it did not look so green. It looked terrifyingly steep. My chest felt heavy and my stomach churned as I stared down the hill, trying to remember the lessons that Bernholdt and Khugaeva had just taught us: pizza to slow down, turn to control speed, fall in style. It seemed easy enough in theory, but I quickly began to doubt my abilities.
I pushed off and instantly regretted it. Within seconds, I was flying. The wind roared in my ears as I repeated my mantra: pizza, pizza, pizza. Clearly, it did not work. My skis wobbled, my legs shook and before I realized it, I was airborne — flipping, rolling, staring up at the sky before landing hard on my back. My helmet shot off my head, and I stared in horror and disbelief as it slid down the slope.
“Get up,” I told myself, determined to redeem what little dignity I had left. I pushed off again, and this time I made it farther, though not by much. Just as I began to feel a flicker of confidence, I spotted a mother and her son standing directly in my path in front of me, completely unaware of the human missile barreling toward them. I forced my skis into the strongest pizza of my life as I closed my eyes and whispered a silent prayer. Somehow, miraculously, I stopped mere inches away from death.
The rest of the way down was slow and shaky, but I made it without further disaster. Maybe skiing isn’t my sport, but at least I can say I tried — and survived.
Audrey’s experience
The green looked much steeper than I expected from where we were standing at the top. From below, it had seemed manageable. From the top? Not so much. My enthusiasm dropped, but I pushed off with my sticks before I could second-guess myself.
Within seconds, I quickly realized I couldn’t stop. My speed kept building as I launched myself downhill, and my brain followed suit — straight into panic mode. Fifteen minutes ago, I had very confidently learned to turn and stop, yet I couldn’t seem to remember either. When I tried to recall what Bernholdt and Khugaeva said about slowing down, I heard the wind screaming in my ears. My only priority was not falling — especially after watching Abby wipe out just seconds earlier. Somewhere behind me, I heard Bernholdt shouting to “Pick one leg to lean on!”, but the cold wind and the sound of my skis wildly scraping against the snow swallowed her instructions.
I will admit, the rush was thrilling. When I finally managed to slow down by some divine intervention, my lungs burned and my limbs trembled from the adrenaline. Thankfully, my years of ice skating came to save the day. Staying low, bending my knees and focusing on balance came almost instinctively. This muscle memory got me safely through the first green, even if my mind buffered from the speed.
I brought this into our second green, where the same cycle repeated itself. I started cautiously. Panic crept back in as I rapidly picked up speed again. But this time, I reminded myself to trust my balance. I stumbled to the bottom of both greens completely spent, but still upright. To me, it was Olympic gold.
Abby Chong can be reached at [email protected].
Audrey Kim can be reached at [email protected].
