“Let gravity do the work,” instructed my dad. I was small and needed some speed to get through the deep snow. We were skiing in Sun Valley, Idaho and it had snowed overnight. I had never skied in this much snow before. 

Some of my fondest memories are of skiing in Sun Valley. My family visited this mountain town every spring break and some winter breaks to ski on its world-famous ski runs and light, fluffy snow. At age 4, I took my first turns down Dollar Mountain in Sun Valley. I wore jeans, oversized ski boots, and a gap-toothed smile. I loved feeling the wind rushing by my head and the gravity pulling my body down the mountain. My dad would put me between his legs, so I could learn how to move my hips to make my skis arc. Soon, he let me go, so I could try on my own. At first, the runs were flat with little risk, but as I got more confident, the terrain became more varied. Eventually, I was skiing with my friends through the trees on runs called, “Dilly Dally Alley” and “Grandma’s House.” 

‘Let’s do that again,” I screamed in delight to my friend Nell. We would load the chairlift and do another lap until our toes and nose were cold and then we would go into the lodge for hot cocoa and french fries. When the day was done and the lifts were closed, we would drag our bodies home and regale our families with all our fun adventures. 

These spring break weeks were what I longed for all year. I loved being in the mountains and as corny as it sounds, “being one with the mountains.” I loved the challenge, the euphoria, and the adrenaline. I went back to these feelings every year, and eventually, boundaries got pushed and the challenges got harder.

My dad wanted to take me down Fire Trail, a black diamond run, the hardest classification for ski runs. The run veered off from another run and disappeared into the trees. It was so long and steep that I couldn’t see the bottom. The snow was also up to my thighs. My heart was beating inside my chest and my legs felt like jello. My dad was an accomplished skier. I looked to him for how I should ski: confident, effortless, and strong. I skied all over the mountain with him on groomed runs, but this was my first black diamond, powder skiing run. He took off first to demonstrate how to angle your body and let your skis float on the snow. He stopped part way down, so he could watch me and give me advice. I lined up my skis to face down the hill and pushed off with my poles. I made a right-hand turn and went to turn again, but could not get my skis to come with me. I ended up falling forward with my head facing downhill. Cold snow crept down my jacket and into my pants. 

“Dad, I am stuck!” I screamed in fear. 

“Throw your legs over your head,” he responded. I did what he told me and voila! I was back in position. I stood up shakily. 

“Don’t overthink it this time. Just point your skis downhill, lean back, and let gravity do its work,” my dad hollered. 

Okay. I thought. Easier said than done. But, here it goes. 1, 2, 3…

I leaned back and pointed my skis downhill. To my delight, it worked! I met him at the bottom with a hug and sheer adulation. 

“Can we do that run again?” I said with a smile.