There is a first time for everything. Some “first times” come and go without much thought, but others stick with you throughout your life. For me, one of those moments was the first time I went skiing in the mountains of New Mexico. Nothing was more memorable than the adrenaline rush I felt as I zipped and carved the mountain. I felt as if I had conquered the mountain.

I stood in awe ; taking in all the natural beauty that surrounded me. I could feel cold air running through my hair. However, nothing complimented the picturesque scene more than the smell of minty pine escaping the forest nearby. Yet even the immense beauty on top of that mountain did not mask the immense cold felt throughout my body. The frigidness of the winter air was easily overcome by the intense adrenaline that you experience as you go racing down the course.

The mountain scene seemed so sublime; so tranquil. To my left and right, the only thing visible was crisp white blanket of snow; carved by the many skis which had trodden upon it. Behind me lay the great untamed wilderness, pockmarked by the evergreen trees, slowly creeping up the incline of the mountain. I remember looking up, catching a glimpse of and old ski lift; the only way to reach this tranquil spot. I knew this moment would be with me forever, a memory which would truly stand the testament of time.

I will admit, I was a rookie to skiing. My muscles were sore and aching from the constant falling. Learning to ski was a tedious process, but each failure was a step closer to conquering the mountain. Achy muscles and soggy ski boots did not deter me. All in all, once everything clicked, skiing proved to be one of my most enjoyable experiences.

The last run of my trip to Sandia Peak was the most vivid. At this point, I still wasn't accustomed to the ski lift. Time seemed to slow down as the old machine tumbled slowly up the mountain. At one point I thought I was going to fall over. The drop was nearly twenty feet straight down, the only thing separating you from certain death was a flimsy strap which attached your ski to the lift chair. I could have easily plunged straight towards the ground. However, all these fears were eased as I approached the familiar tranquil spot on-top of the mountain.

As I stood atop the mountain, admiring its beauty, I was brought back to reality by my father's constant banter, "We don't have all day, lets go!" He was no rookie, he easily carved the mountain which I had struggled to get down. But since it was my last opportunity, I determined to conquer the mountain. Since he was accustomed to skiing, he wasn't as impressed by the surroundings as I was. His calls became louder and louder. Slightly agitated I slowly crept towards the steep edge of the slope. The sheer drop of the gigantic mound of snow I stood upon, was intimidating. Obviously, the only way to get down was to go down it. In a swift change of heart, I took a deep breath, as I mentally prepared myself for the task at hand. In the blink of an eye, the exhilarating feeling of going downhill on a pair of skis took over me. The cold mountain breeze rushed passed me as I zipped past other skiers and trees. Carving the mountain, swerving to the left and the right, in a frivolous attempt to keep up with my father's pace was a very thrilling feeling. Speeding down the slope at forty miles an hour I felt as if I was atop the world, even though I was only twelve thousand feet above sea level

Skiing was truly an incredible experience. It will be a memory I cherish for a long time. I look forward to next years trip to Colorado, which will only bring more fun on the slopes.

Stairway Lift Chair