I woke up early that morning, after having gone to bed extremely late the previous night. Unlike most other mornings, however, I did not fall asleep again, but rose almost immediately, and began getting ready. The events of the previous night--the numbness I felt after breaking up with Scott, the spur of creativity, the lifting of the writer's block I seem to have had all month--were nothing compared to what awaited me that day.
I left the house to meet Fabiola, and we returned to my house as we waited for Mike. There was a sense of expectation between us; neither of us truly knew what would happen, but we knew that whatever did happen would be amazing.
Mike drove up to my house; we piled into his car, exchanged an introduction with his friend Gil who sat at his side, and we drove to the Waffleshop for breakfast. We broke our fast amidst laughter and spirited conversation that never died. This friendly atmosphere was uplifting and intoxicating. Fabiola sat mostly silently at my side, too shy to play a large role in the conversation, but I had a presence. In this company, I felt no pressure from the outside world--I was free to let my hair down and give way to my wild, free-spirited side.
We arrived at Tussey Mountain shortly after noon, and immediately went to rent our equipment. I had initially planned on skiing--after all, I knew how to ski, I was good at it. Mike and Gil were going to snowboard, and Fabiola had agreed to learn to snowboard if they taught her, but I had never set foot on a snowboard in my life--surely I should stick with what I already knew how to do, in order to be able to go on the high slopes? At the last moment, as I was about to put my money down to rent the skis, I changed my mind, and asked for a snowboard.
After the prolonged hassle of learning to use my snowboarding equipment, I finally stood with Mike, Gil, and Fabiola atop the bunny slope, warily looking down beneath me. With my boots strapped into a snowboard I didn't even know how to control, the bunny slope seemed terrifyingly threatening. Gil took the first leap, and began to descend the slope. I took a deep break, adjusted my board, and tried to follow. I had barely gone several feet before I lost control of my board, floundered around helplessly for a few seconds, and fell hard on my behind. The snow got my blue jeans wet, as I was not dressed for skiing or snowboarding. I tried to get up and continue, only to fall again. It was becoming painfully obvious that I had not the faintest clue of how to use a snowboard. How the hell was this supposed to work?
After descending down the bunny slope three times, and becoming fairly confident in my ability to snowboard about ten feet without falling, I agreed to go on the very top of the mountain with Mike and Gil and attempt to go down one of the easier slopes. I felt excited, but nervous, and the closer we got to the top of the mountain, the more insane our idea seemed. Mike had snowboarded before, but he was only at a beginner level, and this was the second time Gil had stood on a snowboard. I had never even touched a snowboard prior to today. None of us actually knew how to snowboard, had ever taken any lessons or had even asked a professional how it was done. And now we were about to attempt to descend from the very top of Tussey Mountain, all on our own, with nothing to rely upon but ourselves and our non-existent snowboarding skills.
We got off the lift and walked to the beginning of the trail together, bound by a sense of camaraderie in the face of the danger we were facing. We all put our boots in our boards simultaneously, attempted to move forward on our boards--and fell. Another attempt, another fall. Another, then another. Every time I fell, my thin blue jeans and permeable gloves became even more soaked with all of the snow, and my wrists and shoulders were beginning to ache from all of the pressure. Every time, I got up laughing, my eyes flashing defiantly of my lack of skill and experience, and recklessly jumped again, experimenting with the movements until I was comfortable on my board. Every time I went slightly further without falling, and, by the end of the first leg of the trial, I could actually go a decent length at a reasonably high speed without falling, and my movements became more confident as I began to understand how to maneuver the board. Despite the inevitable, reoccurring white-outs, Mike, Gil and I finished the trail feeling on top of the world, and immediately piled on the lift for another run down the same trail.
Having gone down the trail several times, our confidence level rose, and, augmented by the excitement we felt, we were starting to feel like intermediate-level snowboarders rather than the novices we truly were. We persuaded Fabiola to accompany us down the trail we had just gone through, thinking she, just like us, would learn to snowboard better from experience than from tentatively boarding down the bunny slope. The idea, however, was doomed to failure. Fabiola sorely lacked the confidence and courage to stand on her board and attempt to board without falling forward in an instinctive attempt to catch herself before she even fell. We spent almost an hour on the first leg of the trail, trying to get Fabiola to stand on her board properly and attempt to glide downhill. Finally, we gave up the attempt. Fabiola was too fearful to even try, and was locked in a self-pitying mindset that made it impossible for us to draw her out of her protective shell. I left my friends after the first leg of the trail, smoothly descended to the bottom, and asked ski patrol to assist Fabiola down the trail. I re-united with Mike and Gil, and we went down the trail several more times, gaining experience with every run, before we went inside the lounge for lunch.
After lunch, Fabiola decided to stay inside the lounge, play video games, and watch the Olympics on TV, while Mike, Gil, and I excitedly filed out of the door. We went down the trail again several times, but with variations, taking more difficult routes towards the bottom. It was getting cold, and my jeans, gloves, and hat were soaking wet from the snow, but I didn't give a damn. We were having the experience of our lives, and physical discomfort had never mattered less in our lives than it did then.
Finally, I became sick of going down the same easy trail we had been descending the entire time. Certainly, we were going faster and getting better every time we descended; moreover, we had added the challenge of going down a more difficult, hilly part in the bottom. But that was insufficient. We had been at the mountain for almost nine hours, and we only had an hour to go before the resort closed for the night. I had to go down a black diamond trail by the end of my first day snowboarding, or I would never forgive myself. I would go down the officially most advanced slope on the mountain, if it cost me my life.
I tried to persuade Mike and Gil to descend with me, but they were fearful and hesitant. We were all physically tired; snowboarding for ten hours was exhausting. Besides, none of us was truly skilled enough to go down the slope. We were all still beginners in terms of skill level, we were just arrogant enough to feel more advanced than we truly were. The black diamond slope was steep, icy, and covered with hills at the bottom. Attempting it, given the circumstances, was insanity. Mike and Gil, after considering all of this, demurred from going down.
I stepped up to the edge of the cliff that was the beginning of the black diamond slope. Alone for the first time--so be it. Gil called out after me, "Are you sure about this?" I replied with a devil-may-care laugh that gave no indicator of the terror I felt, "Never ask me that question". Then, with a deep breath, I turned my board and glided off of the edge of a cliff.
I fell almost immediately, but was up on my feet immediately to continue. The high wind blew snow into my face; I squinted against the gale and the mass of my hair that flew constantly in my eyes. The instant I had gone off the cliff, onto the slope, I felt no fear--merely an overwhelming, addictive intensity. I looked back only once, and saw Mike and Gil standing on the top of the slope, looking down on me. "They're watching you", a voice said inside my head, "They're all watching you. You cannot fail." The slope was so steep, it was impossible to hold still, and I wove patterns as I descended rather slowly, but with a surprising, steady stability. The strain on the muscles of my legs was insane, my entire body was shaking from the physical stress by the end of the day, but I paid no attention. I was in love with every aspect of it--the intense vitality of it, the challenge, the dizzying speed, the difficulty of remaining upright, the sharp focus and concentration required, the balancing game, the knowledge that one misstep could mean a lethal fall. I was addicted to the challenge, the vitality of being alive.
I met Mike and Gil at the bottom of the slope. Encouraged by my example, and by the fact that I had survived the black diamond slope, they agreed to go down the slope after me. I went even faster down the slope this time, and, although I paid for it with a nasty fall towards the bottom, it was worth every second of it. Despite the fact that I was trembling from exhaustion, I could not, would not, stop. My body responded with a rush of energy to keep me sustained through the physical strain and difficulty, and the adrenaline rush was intoxicating. More intoxicating still was the sweet knowledge that earlier that same day was the first time I had ever set foot upon a snowboard, and, now, at the end of the day, I was skilled enough to snowboard down the steepest, most advanced slope at Tussey Mountain.
Shortly before ten o'clock, the ski lifts began closing. Mike, Gil, and I managed to get on the lifts before they closed for one last run. Mike and Gil decided take the easy trail for their last run, to pick up speed. I went on the black diamond trail. This time, I let myself go entirely, and snowboarded down the slope with a wild, reckless abandon, yet without falling once. The fresh mountain air, the hard wind in my face, the bright lights in the surrounding blackness, the strain of my muscles, the speed, the constant shifts of my board to react to--all of these factors overwhelmed my mind and senses, leaving me with a dizzy, drunken feeling as I came to an sharp stop at the bottom of the slope.
It was ten, and the resort was closed. I waited for Mike and Gil; when they finally arrived, we regretfully took off our boards and went to return our equipment. We found Fabiola in the lounge, and, moving as a group, weaved our way across the parking lot to Mike's car. I was soaked to the skin, shaking from the cold, mildly injured in several different places, and dazed from physical exhaustion. Nevertheless, the euphoria I felt was indescribable. This, I thought to myself, was undoubtedly the best day in my life--going snowboarding for the first time in my life, learning to board without anyone to guide me, risking my life flying down the steepest slope on the mountain at the end of my first day--all of this without my parents' knowledge.
