LJ Idol Week 10: Icarus
My dad has a large hill beside his house. The first time it snowed while we were out there, my brother and I immediately saw it as the perfect sledding hill, except for one small problem. It dead-ended in some pretty thick woods. Of course, being around twelve and six, respectively, we didn’t at first see this as a problem. We’d just stop the sleds before they hit the woods. It would be simple.
And it was. The hill was steep, but not steep enough that we’d get going at any great speed, and it was easy to put a foot out and bring the sled to a stop mere feet from the tangled mass of branches.
Then we got bolder. The little hill wasn’t enough. We wanted to go faster. About half the length of the hill (the half we had been sledding on up to this point) gently slopes down to the woods. But the other half starts out much more steeply, and halfway down there is a railroad tie wall with about a two foot drop before the hill continues on down to the woods. We figured we could get even more speed if we went off the steeper side and launched ourselves off the railroad tie wall.
And we did. We lined our sleds up beside the driveway and pushed off down the hill. Immediately, we began going faster and faster. Everything became a blur of white. Then, for one terrifying moment, the ground fell away as we soared over the railroad tie wall. We landed back on the ground with a bump, but we were going much too fast. My brother, seeing what was going to happen, bailed out. He rolled off his sled into the snow and let the sled continue on its way. But I had underestimated just how much faster I was going now. By the time I had even thought of putting my foot out to slow the sled, I was ten feet into the woods and had a face full of dead branches.
I stood up, picked a few twigs out of my hair, grabbed the rope on the front of the sled, and ran with the sled back up the hill. My brother was already there, ready to try it again, too.
* * *
I spin round and round the indoor ice rink, a huge smile on my face. I am one of the fastest skaters out there.
But I know I can go even faster.
I cut to the left a bit to avoid a slower skater, then pick up speed. There is no one in front of me, so I dig in my skates and push faster and faster and faster. Cold air brushes my face and plays with my waist-length brown hair, making it billow out behind me. I squint a bit, trying to keep my eyes focused on what is happening in front of me.
I execute a sweeping turn and glide effortlessly into the straightaway. The entrance to the rink is on this side, so there are more people. I swerve left and right, easily avoiding teams of two and three holding hands.
Then a little boy falls less than five feet in front of me. I turn my skates sharply to the left, but as fast as I’m going, I can’t compensate quickly enough for the change in direction. My left skate wobbles unsteadily, and I lose my balance and spin ungracefully to the ground.
I try unsuccessfully for a few seconds to stand back up, but I can’t get the thin blades of the skates to balance underneath me. I push myself on my knees over to the wall, hold onto it, and use it to help me stand.
Then I’m off again, slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster.
* * *
I wobble unsteadily on my skis, glad that I have the instructor’s hand to hold onto for support. The ground gradually begins to slope downward, and I know we’ve reached the top of the hill. It’s only a bunny slope, but I’ve never done this before, so I have no idea what will happen next. I’m ready to find out, though.
The instructor lets go of my hand and moves so he’s standing in front of me, his back to the slope. He puts his arms out in front of him, a ski pole held between his gloved hands. I reach out and take hold of the pole.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Absolutely!” I reply, giddy with nervous excitement.
He pushes off with his skis, and I follow, still holding onto the pole for balance. I can feel the snow sliding past beneath my skis, slowly at first, then gradually a bit faster. We never really get going that fast on the bunny slope, but it doesn’t matter. This is fun, and when we reach the bottom, I’m ready to get back up to the top and do it again.
After a few more runs down the slope, the instructor asks me if I want to try it on my own. Of course I do.
We stand side by side at the top of the slope. He’ll be right beside me, he says, but this is all me.
I’m smiling like crazy as I push off and feel the skis dip downward with the slope. At first, I focus entirely on the placement of my skis, trying to remember everything I’ve learned this morning. But after a few seconds, I begin to relax. I’m doing this. It’s not that hard …
I don’t quite remember what happened next. I think my skis got crossed. All I know is that one moment I’m standing upright, sliding easily down the slope, and the next moment I’m on my butt in the cold snow, my skis pointing awkwardly in different directions.
The instructor is beside me, asking if I’m all right. I am, just a little disappointed that I didn’t make it to the bottom of the slope. He asks me if I need help standing. I say no, then spend about a minute flailing around in the snow trying to get my feet under me so I can get up. Finally, I reach up and take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet.
“You wanna go again?” he asks.
“Definitely!” Of course I do. I’m determined to get this right.
The two of us turn around and head back up the slope. I’m still wobbling rather unsteadily, but at least I’m standing. And I don’t plan on landing in that cold snow again anytime soon.
And it was. The hill was steep, but not steep enough that we’d get going at any great speed, and it was easy to put a foot out and bring the sled to a stop mere feet from the tangled mass of branches.
Then we got bolder. The little hill wasn’t enough. We wanted to go faster. About half the length of the hill (the half we had been sledding on up to this point) gently slopes down to the woods. But the other half starts out much more steeply, and halfway down there is a railroad tie wall with about a two foot drop before the hill continues on down to the woods. We figured we could get even more speed if we went off the steeper side and launched ourselves off the railroad tie wall.
And we did. We lined our sleds up beside the driveway and pushed off down the hill. Immediately, we began going faster and faster. Everything became a blur of white. Then, for one terrifying moment, the ground fell away as we soared over the railroad tie wall. We landed back on the ground with a bump, but we were going much too fast. My brother, seeing what was going to happen, bailed out. He rolled off his sled into the snow and let the sled continue on its way. But I had underestimated just how much faster I was going now. By the time I had even thought of putting my foot out to slow the sled, I was ten feet into the woods and had a face full of dead branches.
I stood up, picked a few twigs out of my hair, grabbed the rope on the front of the sled, and ran with the sled back up the hill. My brother was already there, ready to try it again, too.
* * *
I spin round and round the indoor ice rink, a huge smile on my face. I am one of the fastest skaters out there.
But I know I can go even faster.
I cut to the left a bit to avoid a slower skater, then pick up speed. There is no one in front of me, so I dig in my skates and push faster and faster and faster. Cold air brushes my face and plays with my waist-length brown hair, making it billow out behind me. I squint a bit, trying to keep my eyes focused on what is happening in front of me.
I execute a sweeping turn and glide effortlessly into the straightaway. The entrance to the rink is on this side, so there are more people. I swerve left and right, easily avoiding teams of two and three holding hands.
Then a little boy falls less than five feet in front of me. I turn my skates sharply to the left, but as fast as I’m going, I can’t compensate quickly enough for the change in direction. My left skate wobbles unsteadily, and I lose my balance and spin ungracefully to the ground.
I try unsuccessfully for a few seconds to stand back up, but I can’t get the thin blades of the skates to balance underneath me. I push myself on my knees over to the wall, hold onto it, and use it to help me stand.
Then I’m off again, slowly at first, then gradually faster and faster.
* * *
I wobble unsteadily on my skis, glad that I have the instructor’s hand to hold onto for support. The ground gradually begins to slope downward, and I know we’ve reached the top of the hill. It’s only a bunny slope, but I’ve never done this before, so I have no idea what will happen next. I’m ready to find out, though.
The instructor lets go of my hand and moves so he’s standing in front of me, his back to the slope. He puts his arms out in front of him, a ski pole held between his gloved hands. I reach out and take hold of the pole.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Absolutely!” I reply, giddy with nervous excitement.
He pushes off with his skis, and I follow, still holding onto the pole for balance. I can feel the snow sliding past beneath my skis, slowly at first, then gradually a bit faster. We never really get going that fast on the bunny slope, but it doesn’t matter. This is fun, and when we reach the bottom, I’m ready to get back up to the top and do it again.
After a few more runs down the slope, the instructor asks me if I want to try it on my own. Of course I do.
We stand side by side at the top of the slope. He’ll be right beside me, he says, but this is all me.
I’m smiling like crazy as I push off and feel the skis dip downward with the slope. At first, I focus entirely on the placement of my skis, trying to remember everything I’ve learned this morning. But after a few seconds, I begin to relax. I’m doing this. It’s not that hard …
I don’t quite remember what happened next. I think my skis got crossed. All I know is that one moment I’m standing upright, sliding easily down the slope, and the next moment I’m on my butt in the cold snow, my skis pointing awkwardly in different directions.
The instructor is beside me, asking if I’m all right. I am, just a little disappointed that I didn’t make it to the bottom of the slope. He asks me if I need help standing. I say no, then spend about a minute flailing around in the snow trying to get my feet under me so I can get up. Finally, I reach up and take his hand, and he pulls me to my feet.
“You wanna go again?” he asks.
“Definitely!” Of course I do. I’m determined to get this right.
The two of us turn around and head back up the slope. I’m still wobbling rather unsteadily, but at least I’m standing. And I don’t plan on landing in that cold snow again anytime soon.