Adrenalin

I only have a few memories of going skiing as a kid, but they're potent.

I remember the J-bar on the bunny hill at Mt. Tom, and the slight feeling of panic at the top, right before the lift released, when I wondered if I'd make it off this time without falling over.

I remember squeezing in just a few more icy runs in the pouring rain with my friend Danielle, when the slopes were empty and we were the only ones stupid enough to brave the weather. The fog was so thick that it felt like riding up into Narnia or a Led Zeppelin song.

And I remember the last time I went, with Stephi and her parents at Mt. Snow, taking a jump too fast and whacking into a tree hard enough to get knocked out for a minute or two, then getting up and zooming to the bottom with an aching brain, thinking, "Maybe I shouldn't pay this much to do something scary." The sinking sensation when confidence melts into mild paranoia.

That was it until yesterday, when I strapped on some sturdy, well-worn rentals and gave Heavenly a try. Now I'm only sorry it took me 14 years to rediscover that skiing is freaking fantastic.

You get all bundled up in gloves and hats and long underwear and a puffy coat and new shades because you couldn't find yours at home, and you pay people to let you stand on two carefully curved, slippery strips in giant boots that feel like chunks of lead. Then you point downhill and go, and somehow your legs remember the necessary motions to turn and aim and keep control, and even kick up some satisfying swooshes of powder when you make a sharp stop.

I think the adrenalin actually starts when your boots click in just so. Then there's a little rush in the lift, just about the only time you can get up that high in open air, nothing between you and the sky and the mountains but a thin metal safety bar, if anybody remembers to pull it down. Then another one when you get a little push from behind sliding off the seat at the top.

Then another when you realize there's only one way to the bottom, and the reason you pay for it is that nothing else feels like moving that fast propelled only by your own body and gravity and whatever nature decided to throw down that day.

Swoosh.