Seven Months Is Far Too Long

Before the snow really falls 

It was mid April when my happiness started to vanish. I hugged friends goodbye, not knowing if or when I'll see them again. I had my last beers with other instructors...and then...I had my last run at the mountain, all alone with the wind ripping through my helmet. I jump, and did my last 180, then got in my car with a heavy heart and drove away from the mountain I love.

And then I waited. And moved a couple of times. And waited longer staring out the windows like a puppy waiting for her owner to come home.

Finally, on Monday, November 26, 2012, my alarm went off at 8am, and I hit snooze. I stumbled around my dark basement bedroom, and gathered my gear; snowpants, fluffy vest, boots, boards, and hopped in my car to get my Partner in Crime.

Kinda looked something
like this

We drove an hour, and at long last, I was reunited with the snow.

98% of it was man-made, but I did NOT care, at all. Even better, was that several of the lifties that I love were there, and I hugged the crap out of them. Assuming the first run of the day would be like the last run a few months ago, we strapped in...and fell. On a green trail. And fell again. About seventeen more times. It looked something like this:

"I guess we're learning how to ride a snowboard today," the Partner in Crime said after taking a belly flop.

"I guess so."

And we did. We found our center of balance. We fell a few more times, but by the second run, we went to blue terrain and I rode switch (the opposite from what you'd typically ride, so my right leg was now in front rather than my left). Soon we were reunited with the park.

I was very happy

Because of my knee injuries, I am still incredibly timid when it comes to tricks and jumps and rails. But with a lot of coaching last year, I started jumping (was able to do a 180 off a jump and land before they destroyed my happy jump), and trying other stuff. Because it was our first day, we stuck to jumps, and we FLEW.

For those people out there who think, Humans weren't made with wings. We're meant to stay on the ground, I cannot express how incorrect that line of thinking is. Simply because when I'm in the air, even if it's shorter than the length of taking a breath in, or letting one out, it is the most spiritual thing I can ever expereince. You can tell from the moment of take off if you'll land, or if you'll end up smashing in your kidney (which happened to me once). When you have a good take off, and you have that breath of air where you're flying, it's amazing. I highly encourage it.

Sadly, our out of shape legs got the best of us a little bit before it was time to bail out. So, we got reaquinted with our lockers (it was so clean!).

We stopped along the way at the local shop because I need a jacket for free riding this season and ended up buying a new pair of bindings, because they were so pretty I felt like I could not live without them (even if that means I had to borrow money and can't currently pay rent. Oops :) )

They're beautiful, no?

You can tie a lot of this post to the writing life:
1) If you take seven months away, you'll fall down the hill until you regain your momentum again. It takes practice. You need to keep up on that pracitice.
2) Be brave, take risks, and let yourself fly.
3) Don't be afraid to spend money you don't have. (Especially on writing conferences/writing books). When you die, do you really want to have a million dollars in savings, or do you want your book to be published?
4) Be Happy.

Happy Friday!