Visualimaginationizingskiage

Surrounded thickly by white, so thick you can feel it. No blue skies, only white clouds in all three hundred and sixty degrees of sight. White, fat, fluffy snowflakes falling slowly downward. White covering the towering trees. White frosting your pants and ski’s from the falling snow piling up as you ride the chairlift up the mountain. Even the smell of the cold winter snow and pine is thick as you breathe in. Breathe out, your breath freezing into translucent white puffs of clouds in front of you, fogging your goggles for only a few brief seconds.

You push yourself upward off the chair as your newly waxed ski’s find the ground. Gliding effortlessly over the fresh snow you reach the top of your favorite run. No one is around. Glancing past the your tips, you find the twenty foot cliff that you ate it on twenty minutes previous. Breathe in. Breathe out, the air in front of you filled with more whiteness. In. Out. The line is perfect, only your previous tracks barely visible. Twenty foot drop, five feet out, into three feet of freshies from last nights’ storm. Ride off into an untracked tree run, filled with natural moguls and hits to pop off of. A perfect pillow run. Just thinking about what lies ahead arouses your sympathetic system. Your heart rate increases, thumping hard and loud against your chest. Breathe in. Composed. Breathe out. Calm. Breathe in. Heart rate slows. Breathe out. You are relaxed. Breathe in. Loosen up. Breathe out. You are steady.

Pushing off with your poles and strength, you start down the short runway before the cliff. Breathe in. Deafening silence. As your tips reach air beneath them you rotate your upper body right. Breathe out. As you drop, spinning you pull your knees close to your chest grabbing the outside edge of your left ski with your right hand. One hundred and eighty degrees around. Two hundred and seventy degrees around. You spot your landing, legs start to extend. Three hundred and sixty degrees around. A perfectly stomped landing. Powder explodes in the air around you while you disturb its’ perfectly smooth, sparkling surface.

Breathe in, choking a little on the snow as it flies up while you carve artisticly through it to the trees ahead. Breathe out. Huge smile spreads on your face reaching your eyes, making them sparkle as well.

After riding fluently through the rest of the run you hear the beeping of the lifty scanning your glossy season pass hanging around your neck; the smell of chili cheese fries making its way up to your nose from the restaurant nearby. A smile resurfaces. You lower yourself onto the chair once again. Breathe in cold air. Breathe out clouds. Anchoring the freedom, creativity, and indescribable euphoric feeling by placing your gloved hand on your burning yet relaxed thigh. Breathe in. Breathe out. Peace. Breathe in. Breathe out. Joy.

Writing by JR Lindsey