I stand with my blue tipped skis over the edge of the one of the hardest trails on the mountain, Silver Line Bowl. I look over the edge of the lip and see a slope that looks like a cliff; it’s so steep.

I take in the view; the snow covered mountains go on and on for miles. The cold air stings my exposed nose. I pull my gloves higher on my wrists closing the gap of bare skin between the end of my glove and my wrist. Skiers coming down the mountain across look splotches of paint on a canvas.

I shoot a glance at my best friend Julia. “Ready?” I ask her as a grin spreads across my face.
“Ready!” she replies, looking at me with excitement in her eyes.

As soon as I tip my skis over the edge, the cold wind hits my body, jolting me into the realization that I am about to ski one of the hardest trails on the mountain.  Adrenaline runs through my veins. I live for this. I start down the slope keeping to a steady fast rhythm, planting my pole in the tall moguls and flipping my skis back and forth.

The beat of the song I’m listening to comes through my earbuds. I hear the words coming fast at my ears. The singer yells out the words as if his life depends on it. I ski to the music spearing the moguls with the beat of the quick bass.

I know deep down that skiing the way I am about to is dangerous, but I am not bothered. The music starts to hype me up as I bend my knees and sink further into my boots. I speed up and start twisting my skis faster than I ever have.

Moments like these are some of the best of my life: the “bdump bdump” of the bass in my ears, the snowy mountains stretching out for miles, my blue skis carving into the blinding snow as they turn back and forth, almost too quick for my legs to follow.

The hill begins to level out. I stop short spraying powder all over the trail sign. I skate closer to the sign and lean against it, breathing hard. My heart still races from my run. A familiar beat comes in through my earbuds. I nod along to the beat, losing myself in the song. It’s been at least five minutes since I made it down, I say to myself, something doesn’t seem right. Skiers come down one after the other. I start playing with my pole straps anxiously.

I look around frantically. My eyes dart around the mountain as I pray that I’ll see her bright pink skis coming down the slope. “Julia!” I shout, looking up the hill. My palms sweat in my gloves. I pull my phone out and call her. She doesn’t answer.

I search the hills looking for her desperately. I check my phone again. It seems as if the clock is working overtime, as five minutes have already passed since I called Julia.

Suddenly, I hear chopping blades far above my head. I look up. A gray helicopter is headed to the top of the slope I just blazed down. Shoot! I bet something happened to Julia, I need to find someone to ask NOW!

An older guy in the bright blue Helly Hansen ski instructor coat skis down the remaining part of the bowl cautiously. I suddenly realize I was lucky to have made it down the run in one piece given the reckless way I was skiing.  “Hey!” I shout, “Did you see what happened up there?”

“Yeah,” he says, “A girl about your age completely wiped out, and she looks seriously hurt.”

“Shoot. I think that might be my friend,” I say, fidgeting with the hand warmer in my glove. “Was she wearing grey snowpants and a red jacket?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “They are taking her to emergency tent now, I can ski down with you.”

“Yeah, thanks so much,” I say, my voice wavering. I try to hold my tears back, but they spill out of my eyes like rain pouring out of a thundercloud. They feel hot then cold on my cheeks as they freeze. I unwrap my knuckles from around the handwarmers in my gloves and lift my cold glove to my face to wipe my tears off.

“C’mon,” the man says, “She’s probably ok. We can go see her, just ski behind me.”

I focus on my skiing on the way down. Each time I plant my pole turning slowly around it. We mostly take easy slopes on the way back, the incline barely comparing to the extreme steepness of Silver Line Bowl.   

Finally we reach the bright red ski patrol emergency tent. I see Julia lying inside on a stretcher, barely breathing. Her jacket has been thrown aside to make room for the IV sticking out of her arm. Just the sight of her broken and helpless makes me want to crumple to the ground.  

The next few weeks are a blur, filled with constant visits to the hospital to see Julia. After I finally know she will be okay, I try to go skiing again.

I catch the chairlift, my feet shaking in my tight ski boots. I grip the edge of the chairlift so forcefully my hands start to shake. The end of the chairlift looms over me. I lift the tips of my skis up and land on the icy path. It's the end of the day. The trail is slick and packed down. As soon as my skis hit the small hill, the feeling hits me, the reason why I love skiing so much. I don’t have to force myself to move. I just point my skis down and they take me where I want to go.

Okay, I think, This might not be so bad. I decide that the best way to get over my fear is to ski the bowl again where Julia wiped out.

The icy wind dries my cold sweat as I twist my skis down the trail to get to the bowl. The double black diamonds on the trail sign seem to be taunting me. You can do this, I tell myself, Just stick to your rhythm.

The blue tips of my skis hover above the edge of the drop. My heart races, and butterflies bump the walls of my stomach. I take a deep breath and tilt the tips of my skis over the edge.

Fear rushes through me. I picture Julia in the medical tent lying helpless on the stretcher. I keep my eyes peeled for a good spot to land. I come up to a mogul and stop, instead of using it to get air like I would’ve done before. Okay, just take it slow. I take a deep breath and turn my skis around the first mogul.