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A Chilling Thrill

I reviewed what I'd learned. The instructor had said to point your ski tips together to stop. He called it "snowplowing." Where I'm from, we use a pickup truck with a giant blade in the front.

He kept saying to "slalom" down the mountain, a term I later realized means to zigzag. Frankly, I thought he'd said "salami." I figured they had a gourmet deli on the hill. All these people would need to eat.

With this wealth of knowledge, I slid off. I followed the tracks of the child who'd gone before me. Since her ski tips eventually plowed together, I stopped. No problem. Turning, however, took some maneuvering. I couldn't seem to do it.

Finally I squatted, figuring that the closer I was to the snow, the easier it would be to fall. Skis together, aimed directly at the ski-lodge door, I zipped down the hill.

The cold air suddenly turned fresh and exciting. I felt like an Olympic champion. At long last, the thrill of skiing! That my eyes were frozen shut only added zest.

I snowplowed to a stop and entered the lodge. My cheeks tingled from the warmth of the crowded room, and the biggest, most ridiculous smile took over my face.

"I'm still here," I said, practicallybragging（夸耀）to the crowd. They didn't erupt with applause, but they didn't pelt me with snowballs either. Actually, nothing had changed. Just my attitude.