The first time I went skiing was in 5th grade. I remember it perfectly, it was snowy and gray outside, almost like being in a snow globe. The temperature was a crisp 20 degrees with a slight breeze. It was the absolute perfect time to go skiing. For a pro at least. 

Peering down at what looked like the summit of Mount Everest, I stood over the steepest run on the entire hill. I Thought to myself, “Am I really going to try this right now?” All I could think about was how steep the hill was, how steep the descent was, how steep the incline was. 

The whole reason I was up on the steepest run was because I wanted to prove to my friends that I was the “coolest” and wasn’t a “loser”.  All my friends flew past me and left me in a tornado of snow from their skis. After seeing how none of them wiped out or fell, I finally ripped

 up the band-aid and thought. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

With a couple pushes of my skis I struggled to the edge of the hill and went down. Instant regret. I was going way too fast and felt as if I was driving a formula one car with no brakes. I flew past other onlookers, spraying them with powder as I struggled down to the bottom,

I started realizing that I was rapidly veering to the left and could do nothing about it. All I saw in front of me was trees dotting the end of the run in front of me. I started freaking out inside. With no way to stop I accepted my fate and braced for impact like on a crashing airplane. Then, Crack! Luckily, my helmet took the brunt of the impact from hitting the tree. Nonetheless, I was ok and pretty much unscathed besides a few bruises and mocking laughs. To this day I’ve never gone on that run again.