I still remember the first time I went skiing. It was a cold, dry November day. It hadn't snowed much at the time, so most of the snow on the hills was the slick, wind-blown, artificial ice/pseudo-snow. Not exactly what first-time starters like. My friend Michael had been trying to convince me to go skiing with him and the local Boy Scout troop for a while. At first I was afraid; I had heard many exaggerated stories from people who claimed that gravity was playing foul while skiing. So obviously I was a little skeptical, but Michael assured me that the best way to learn was to simply give it my all and try my luck on one of the many intermediate tracks. It seemed reasonable at the time, so I did it. I've heard it said before; “It's easier said than done.” Whoever coined it knew what he was talking about. On the first two hills I just rolled, headfirst, down. Next I moved on to sliding on my butt and then to what could pass for an actual ski. It was amazing to fly through the packed snow, struggling for balance and dodging trees. It was enough to pump your heart straight through your ribcage. Michael had told me over and over that I had to be ready for the rough patches, or I would tell a nurse that the light at the end of the tunnel is an exaggeration. However I got cocky and decided I could try a black diamond trail. Michael had tried to teach me to make tighter, shorter turns and to crouch to maximize speed. Now, for an expert skier these can be useful skills, but for a beginner they end up being just another thing to think about as he ran at 40 MPHI, tried to crouch and pick up speed, and ended up doing an aerial somersault in forward with a two-point header directly into an area of ​​ice-encrusted snow. I stood there for several minutes, wondering if the cold I felt was my numb body. I thought that trick had killed me, but it wasn't my time. It only left me with a bloody nose and a cut chin. I was very disappointed, I thought that at least one broken vertebra deserved my efforts.