Skiing-A Second Passion

Me and my Mom a couple of years ago on a bluebird day.

Two years old. That’s when it all started. I was a tiny human on two planks, wobbling down the bunny hills. Green circles were my kingdom, and I was its adorable, snow-plowing ruler. Then came the blue squares—the big leagues! I was no longer just a wobbly toddler; I was a speed demon, a blur of neon snowsuit and pure, unadulterated joy. But all that was just training for the ultimate challenge: the dreaded black diamond.

At seven years old, I’m a black diamond veteran. But even a pro has his off days. We were at Big Sky, staring down a jump that looked less like a ramp and more like a ski-hill-sized ramp. I took off, full of confidence, only to realize I wasn’t even close to making it. I started sliding backward, a slow-motion comedy of errors, ending up at the bottom of the ramp like a human pinball. My pride was a little bruised, but my ego was still intact. “I’m going again,” I declared, and up the mountain I went.

This time, there was no hesitation. I charged down the slope, hit the ramp with perfect timing, and soared into the air. I wasn’t just a kid on skis; I was a superhero in the making. And just for good measure, I threw in a twist, landing with a satisfying thud. The crowd went wild (okay, it was just my parents, but they sounded like a crowd), and my little-kid smile stretched from ear to ear. The moral of the story? Always go for the jump, even if you have to slide backward first.

August 8, 2025