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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My first attempt at skiing happened a long time ago on a winter vacation, during a memorable trip to the picturesque valley of Vadaal, Norway. The steep hill slopes were covered by a thick blanket of snow, an ideal location for skiing. I had optimistically rented the skiing gear that was beyond the level of my skill. This I realized in a tragic way, but at the outset I convinced myself that the number of winter sport events that I saw on the TV qualified me to dexterously slide down the sparkling slopes. My friend, a seasoned skier, gave me a brief demonstration, instructing me, “Make a wedge to stop, parallel to slide fast, balance body weight etc.” I thought that was easy, sensed no difficulty at all, but reckoned it to be a great fun moving fast. But the outcome shaped differently. The moment I released the lift handle the slope seemed to tilt precariously. I felt being dragged by gravity and rushing down-slope at an incredible speed with the arms flailing wildly. I tried hard to maneuver my legs properly for the skis to make an wedge to decelerate, but I couldn’t. Panic set in. On an impulse I jammed the knees together with all my might. The skis closed, crossed each other. They didn’t stop my slide, but made me airborne instead. I landed on my back and slid a long while face-up. Finally, I came to a complete stop when my head bumped gently against the safety barrier. I lay there covered in scraped snow for how long I didn’t know. The skis I saw pointed skyward. Through their gap I found the smiling face of my friend simply peering down at me. He dryly asked, “ Are you OK?” I said, “ Yes, so far.” “You should thank God, you didn’t break your ankles”. Surely, I was lucky, although my skiing career got frozen forever on that snowy winter’s eve. legs forgot the ground snow whispered beneath the back… fate turned frozen world
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