So some days

You are the zen master, carving lines down a mountain like you are on a track. Blowing by people faster than you can see them and turning curves in a plow of snowfall. And other days you are the amateur who can barely make it down the hill and JESUS CHRIST THAT WAS ICE!!!

Yesterday, my first run was as the amateur. I barely made it down the easy slope in one piece, let alone with grace or dignity in tact. Banged up and bruised up I sheepishly made it to the chair lift, only to wonder that, I was actually going to do that again? I had forgotten how much it hurts landing so hard on your back, repeatedly knocking the wind out of yourself when you are least expecting it.

My second run was only marginally better after a superb spill off the chair lift. But the day was not as long as one would think it would have been. Surprising myself I continued down the slopes, and by my third run had gotten my balance, not to mention some of my nerve back and headed to harder trails. The spills still occurred, and I have the black and blue marks to prove it, but the speed soon overcame being afraid of the pain. Going so fast is intoxicating, and feeling the correlation between a slight shift in your hips and a steep slide into a curve is amazing. It's a feeling I never got skiing.
I like skiing, I even got good enough for a black diamond at it. But snowboarding, for whatever reason, is more exciting. I can only wonder at it, my center of gravity isn't where it normally is, I don't have poles to help me tweek just enough to keep me from falling. It's me on a board of fiberglass, and I love it so much more. Now if only I had a pair of waterproof gloves.