As I hit the slopes, I am hit with a feeling of power. I swiftly descend the mountain trail. The sights go by at a clip as fast as blinking lights, it almost seems unreal. Yet it seems as suddenly as I started, I reach the bottom.

Sheer excitement: that to me, is almost all of skiing. The gripping of the ski poles and twistings and turnings is all of that and more. Any fear has vanished as a breath of cold air seemingly strikes me on the face. Awesome is a word that comes to mind.

As I finish adjusting my goggles I look down to see I am cloaked in red. I think of myself as a piece of red lightning. Zipping down the mountain, I wonder how others see me.

How can I totally grasp the fullness of skiing? Could it be described as looking down on freshly groomed snow? Losing the top in the distance? The sun giving the snow a sparkly, shining reflection? It is not as though it can be contained in a jar or stored on a piece of film. The only time I can fully appreciate skiing is when I am out on the mountain doing it.

Skiing builds up self-confidence. Once successfully mastering one trail, it is always fun to learn another. After I wipe out, it feels like I dented my armor which I can't fix until I succeed on the trail. Furthermore, if I can see my mistake, I probably won't make it again. I started skiing when I was nine and have not stopped since.

Physically, skiing re-acquaints me with nature. My eyes are always taking in something new, or seeing something differently, such as a tree stump which isn't just a tree stump, but is now an obstacle. My lungs breath in fresh, crisp, nature air, and when I see a mogul or a jump, my body tightens like a spring in anticipation.

I know this writing may not fully capture skiing, but take a moment and visualize yourself at the top of the mountain beginning your descent. You are barely touching the snow, it seems. As the end approaches, I think to myself, "Well, waiting in line can't be that bad, can it?" n