It feels cold and stiff in my hands as I pull it out of it’s bag. It’s sharp edges stick to the corners of my cold numb palms and I’m cautious with my movements, as I know the pain, from being sliced before. The frozen board hits the snow at such an angle it makes a crack, as if someone were to slam a car door at your feet. The board sits face up, with a white top sheet sits two black ovals. These ovals cut the board into three congruent sections, I slip my boots into the ovaled bindings and crank my foot into place. My mittens touching the loose ratchets fighting the thick straps to go tighter and tighter, the bond is complete. Then instantaneously, I begin to realize there is no place I’d rather be then strapped at the bottom of Bristol Mountain with my snowboard.

I slowly make my way through the lift line, filled with people all as eager as me to be carried to the top. The board on my left front foot feels light and I slap one end throwing the freshly fallen snow off. It is finally my turn and I glide into place so effortlessly from the packed down snow and the fresh coat of wax on the base of my board. I look back fast, waiting for the hard seat of the lift to slam my back leg when the lift attendant grabs the lift and slowly releases it at the convenience of myself and the three strangers accompanying me. On our accent, I share few words with my neighbors because in these short couple minutes is where my mind begins to race. So anxious, yet calm, thinking about my upcoming run, mapping out every turn edge by edge. My free hanging board feels heavier now, when I notice the numbness in my foot, it is no bad feeling but one I use too. The snow falls lightly, yet  I am still able to see the end of the lift. I slide off the chair effortlessly and begin the redundant routine of strapping in.

I drive my heel into the snow hard, creating a  self-made shelf for balance. I strap my boot down tight, horizontally facing my decent. Both my feet connected, I reassure my balance, I pop hard off my toes flicking my board vertical. My snowboard floats, its edges slice such crisp lines following every direction I point it in. The wind and the bright snow make my eyes water, but I prefer to handle the elements raw with no eye protection. My speed increases every second, and there is no better feeling than knowing you are in complete control. With the small trail I blazed slowly diminishing I see myself going towards the edge of a steep ridge. When I am faced with two options of either jumping off the ridge or getting trapped in the deep powder that sits over the woodland floor. Well the choice almost seemed obvious,  I catapult myself off the ridge line, hand on board tweaking my body as hard as I can. Landing hard, my toes cramp, knees buckle my heels instinctively drive my body upward stabilizing myself. I’m alive, unscathed from the tremendous jump. My mind is now open, letting myself let go of all stress and worry and letting the creativity and freedom run throughout my body guiding me with my every movement.       

My body stiffens as I open my eyes to the dark crisp air of my bedroom. It’s cold and I hear my alarm chiming its monotonous tune over in my head. My hand slaps down, the jingle stops, my clock reads 7:02 AM. A stroke of relief passes over me, it’s a Saturday morning in the late December and I’m waking up not for school but to undergo a passion of mine. A passion that started when I was four years old and that is to go snowboarding.