It is a Sunday in January. My family and I are going on a cross-country ski trip. It is gently snowing, and the treetops are cloaked with patches of snow. Crunch, crunch. I plunge my pole into the thin crust of ice protecting the beautiful white snow. After each successive plunge, I gain speed. Whoosh, whoosh.
As I reach the upcoming hill, part of me wants to groan, turn around, and ski back to my little sister, who is now trailing vastly behind, but something inside me compels me to go up the hill. As I climb, I push my poles into the snow harder. I have to make sure not to take too big of steps; otherwise, I will slip down the hill. When I reach the top, I begin to ski harder. I let myself glide between strokes, and soon it feels like I am flying.
My dog, now sadly deceased, is running by my side. As the hill levels out, she catches up to me and knocks me into the ice cold snow. She jumps all over me and pushes me deeper into the snow. The cold snow rushes down my back, sending shivers down my spine. I get up, freezing and partially annoyed, but I am glad to be outside with my dog and my family. As I head back up the hill that I just came down, I cannot help but smile. Out here, I do not have to worry about my problems; I forget about all of the homework I have to do and all of my personal problems. I can just focus on what I love to do; go skiing with my family. Cross-country skiing, unlike the other sports that I play, has no coaches, at least the way I do it. Out on the tightly packed trails, I am free from criticism and stress.
Sometimes, I even feel weightless.
As I reach the upcoming hill, part of me wants to groan, turn around, and ski back to my little sister, who is now trailing vastly behind, but something inside me compels me to go up the hill. As I climb, I push my poles into the snow harder. I have to make sure not to take too big of steps; otherwise, I will slip down the hill. When I reach the top, I begin to ski harder. I let myself glide between strokes, and soon it feels like I am flying.
My dog, now sadly deceased, is running by my side. As the hill levels out, she catches up to me and knocks me into the ice cold snow. She jumps all over me and pushes me deeper into the snow. The cold snow rushes down my back, sending shivers down my spine. I get up, freezing and partially annoyed, but I am glad to be outside with my dog and my family. As I head back up the hill that I just came down, I cannot help but smile. Out here, I do not have to worry about my problems; I forget about all of the homework I have to do and all of my personal problems. I can just focus on what I love to do; go skiing with my family. Cross-country skiing, unlike the other sports that I play, has no coaches, at least the way I do it. Out on the tightly packed trails, I am free from criticism and stress.
Sometimes, I even feel weightless.