Uphill, downhill

Sunday I woke up at 5am. Groggily I pulled on snow pants borrowed from a friend, grabbed my jacket and ran out the door. What was I doing up so early? Ski trip! My residential college has organized a heavily subsidized ski trip for us this weekend. It will be my first time ever to strap on skis and fly down a mountain (perhaps that’s a bit ambitious). As flat as Houston is, I have never really even seen people ski besides the Winter Olympics and Miis on Wii Sports. I didn’t set unrealistic expectations for learning how to ski, but you bet I was super excited all week in anticipation for finally trying to ski.

The residential colleges almost spoil us with amazing experiences, from master’s teas with Ira Glass to trips to see Hamilton on Broadway. In the fall, we always have an apple-picking trip, and it’s become almost a tradition to spend a day in an orchard away from campus. We watched the Super Bowl together in the dining hall with chicken wings and celery sticks, and we’re hosting an Oscars watching party this weekend. Fellow Hounies organized a sweet late-night jam session in the buttery last semester, where I found out that people have so many hidden talents. The love keeps flowing during reading period and finals as the master’s office organizes study breaks and sends words of encouragement.

Anyways, toward the end of our three-hour drive, our bus headed into a small fork in the road and pulled into the parking lot underneath the mountain. It was a gorgeous day in Vermont and the perfect temperature for skiing. Seven others and I headed in first for our beginner’s lesson while the rest straight to the lifts for the slopes. Gingerly taking the first couple of steps with the skis on, I was amazed at how smoothly many of these eight-year-olds skied and snowboarded down the slope.

Not holding any expectations turned out to be beneficial as two hours later I found myself also skiing down the baby slopes, mostly smoothly. My friends found me after lunch, and after much cajoling we decided to head to the top of the mountain to take the easiest green slope down. What an adventure that turned out to be! You’d think that going downhill would give us trouble, but it took us a while to navigate the ski lifts successfully. I am very glad that we jumped straight into the actual trails; in the course of many falls and much flailing of my arms, I gradually learned to use the right muscles to steer and slow down, and over time I gained enough control to relax and enjoy the scenery and conversation down the hill.

Back home later that evening, I brought back with me tinges of fresh mountain air interspersed in memories of all of the happenings during the day. Extra awake, alert, and focused, my mind retained the movements of the skis and the exhilaration of moving with gravity in almost a dancelike coordination. It was a day well spent. Refreshed, I can’t wait for the same trip next year.