A day on the slopes

Climbing up a mountain in a dinky tin-like gondola with wind and snow and clouds may not be the best way to pump up a ski novice's confidence. But that's how it started. Dreary and cold and grey, we were slightly disappointed that the sun had decided to sleep in for the fourth day in a row. However, after the first run--which was slightly shaky I might add considering that I hadn't been on skis since I was ten--the clouds started shifting. By the time we reached the top of the mountain again, an unearthly world had opened up before us. Clouds rising up like mountains beyond mountains, and snow sparkling like millions--okay, billions--of tiny polished crystals that had magically settled atop the piercingly white pistes. And even though the frigid temperatures were both mind and body numbing, the views from 2600 meters left me speechless. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

You know when you have those moments when you keep saying to yourself, "Am I seriously here right now? This cannot be real. No way. It's just not possible." Then you pinch yourself and realize how lucky you are to be exactly where and who you are in the very moment. Well, since I couldn't pinch myself on account of the layers and layers of clothing I had on, I went ahead and decided to trust the dream-like reality and enjoyed every minute of it.

We skied for about five and a half hours and only gave in because we couldn't handle the cold any longer. Losing digits wasn't really a part of the day's plan, and we still had the après-ski scene to attend--which I might add is just as important as skiing itself.

And it was one of the last runs down the mountain, with the swooshing of skis against powder in my ear and the thrill of speed pounding in my chest and pulsing through every limb, that every doubt and hesitation still clinging on to me fell away. All that was left was the sound of my breath, the beat of my heart in my chest, and the feeling that I could really do anything.

It wasn't until we were gliding up the mountain 50 feet up in the air, four pairs of skis dangling and cheeks red from the burning cold, that the beauty of that moment really hit me. I suppose sitting on a chair readily lift lends itself to some minutes of quiet reflection. Suspended high above the intensity below, the silence is cleansing. I smile in gratitude for having the opportunity to be here with such great company. And as the slideshow of memories plays through my head, it's interrupted by the contagious laughter of my four rosy cheeked companions. Sigh. What a beautiful day.