Being the bitch and taking over the more ways than one.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

First Moguls

The first of things are always remembered. It's a powerful memory trigger. My first concert was The Bangles and Mister Mister at Blossom Music Center in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. My first time dining on raw whale was 2007 at Þrír Frakkar (Three Coats) in Reykjavik, Iceland. And my first taste of riding moguls was maybe 14 years old at Kissing Bridge Ski Resort

I was cruising a trail with a friend and her family until we couldn't go any farther. We dead ended at the most difficult run I had seen thus far. MOGULS. All icy moguls. It must have been one of their double diamond runs. I loudly declared, "I have to walk down," but it was too late and not an option. I descended with a biting vertigo of fear. Not only did I fear the moguls themselves, but the run was crowded, narrow, and with many people unsuccessfully getting down the hill with falls. Bump. Bump. Bump I went, resting between moguls. The only thought going through my mind was, "Don't fall." 

Finally, I reached the bottom and to my elation, I was one of the successes! I rocked those icy moguls without a fall! I was better than I thought! Or lucky, perhaps. My first brush with the magic snow bumps they call moguls will never be forgotten. Back then I told myself that was the first and last time for moguling around. I had avoided any and all before my sabbatical. I'm now ready to try some again if they seek me out.

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