Simon Dumont is the Man

It’s freezing cold. That’s not all either, there’s something else different from normal, I’m dizzy. I explore around myself without opening my eyes, which seem to fight me every time I try to open them. As soon as my arm moves, pain shoots through my back. An icy, deep pain. I can’t imagine that’s good news. Well, I guess I should avoid moving as much as possible. I realize I’m sitting up against something, something hard and round, with my head leaning against my right shoulder. The crisp air gives the scent of pine. The cool temperature makes the whole world seem so clean and makes me aware. Suddenly I know where I am without having to open my eyes, Winter Park ski resort.

I can remember the whole day. I had trouble reorienting myself to where I was, not quite like a concussion, more like the memory of where I am isn’t important. I can’t seem figure out what has happened in the last few minutes though. With an amount of effort, I finally open my eyes. The mountain has always brought me an escape from the rest of my life and the opportunity to focus on something I loved. The white snow covering the branches in all the trees surrounding me, while the snow around me seems untouched save for my two trails etched into the pristine powder. I’m not on a run, they’re too crowded, and I don’t need people getting in the way. Instead, I find myself in the middle of the woods. Finding my way out shouldn’t be any trouble, if I go down long enough I’ll find something.

I finally venture a glance down at myself, an ordeal I knew I would have to go through eventually. I knew I wouldn’t like what I saw, but it had to be done eventually. I still have one ski on my left foot, but the right foot has been released. Tentatively, I raise my ski pole to release my left foot from the ski binding. The silver pole is straight until about half the distance where it takes a committed left turn, cracking the paint on the opposite side. This isn’t the first time I’ve ruined a pole, but it is always a little disappointing knowing that I’ll have to go buy a new one again. I abandon my attempt and look to my right to find my ski. The snow seems so undisturbed; I can’t imagine the ski could be hidden beneath. Then it dawns on me, I’m facing uphill. My back is against a large pine tree that has seemed to clear the lower branches so I had room to sit. I’m guessing that it didn’t make room willingly.

With this new realization I take a quick turn to my left. I choke on my breath, the pain rushes over me again. This time, there seems to be a deep bruise on my right thigh echoing the pain. I pinch my eyes closed until the pain releases me and then open my eyes to scan my left side. There’s a lot more to see this time. The snow has been torn up and there is no pattern to the trail cuts through the snow. A thin tree, the trunk only being 3 inches in diameter, has collapsed into the trail. My parallel ski tracks are so elegant compared to this ruin. The fallen tree in the middle of the trail must be newer than the tracks, because they continue underneath the thin trunk.

The memory of the crash is finally available to me. I recognize it and close my eyes to review the images in my head.

I saw Russell’s blue jacket disappear into the dense green woods. It is a common sight, and I follow him into the darkness. This is a true challenge. We have skied so much that the runs offer no more challenges to us. The trees, on the other hand, require quicker reflexes and tighter turning, but offer a greater adrenaline rush. It was much more dangerous, but the feel of the fresh snow was irreplaceable. I break off from Russell’s trail I had been following and begin to find my own way through the forest. As my speed increases, so does my excitement. This will surely lead to a situation that will keep me on my toes. Sure enough, as I ask, the mountain offers. The trees spread forcing a quick right turn followed by an immediate left. I tear through the right turn and force my skis below me into the air to spin to a left turn. With my speed, this is not going to be enough.

I throw my hips to turn the skis because the edges are not enough, this might do the job. Then I notice that my right ski is on the wrong side of one of the smaller trees.

Well that's what I have so far. Its a draft... but its not done. It will be soon though. Its been really fun to write so maybe I'll write another and decide which is better.

PS. Simon Dumont is my favorite skier. Therefore, he is the Man.