I'm flying, Jack!

I like to say that I was raised on a boat. When I was eight years old, my dad bought a boat. That purchase led to dozens of trips to Lake Powell and various other lakes in Utah and surrounding states. I loved the smell of my boat--a mix of gasoline, lake water, and sunscreen. I loved the feeling I got as I sat at the very front of the boat and my dad punched the gas. I'll admit, to this day, I still spread out my arms Titanic style and say, "I'm flying, Jack!"

Though my love of boating was cultivated at a very young age, there was one aspect of boating that for the longest time I was terrified of: skiing. The idea of strapping a heavy board unto my feet and then being yanked out of the water scared me to death. Add in some horror stories I'd heard about skiing, and I refused to try. I was not up to the challenge of exploring the world of skiing. I was much too comfortable sitting on an inflated tube and being dragged behind the boat.

Finally, my dad had enough of my reluctance. He managed to bribe me to get into the water, but threatened me when I said I was done trying. Again and again, the boat circled around with the rope. Again and again, the rope slipped from my fingers as I was "trying" to get up. Finally, it clicked in my ten year old brain that I wasn't going to be able to get into the boat into I at least got up. So mustering all my strength, I held unto that dang rope until I popped up out of the water.

I was only up for a few seconds that first time, but I was introduced to a whole new world. It was a feeling even more exhilarating than sitting at the front of the boat. I really was flying along the calm surface of the lake. It was an ethereal experience and I still remember it vividly. I had found a whole new world, and from that moment on, you had to beg me to stop skiing.

Hike, Ski, Breathe, Repeat

Last winter my brother came to visit me in Provo, and being in Utah he of course wanted to go snowboarding. I love to ski, so I went with him and a group of his daredevil friends. I was the only girl, and had never been to Canyons Resort before, so I didn't realize how far up the mountain we were going until it was too late. We took three ski lifts to the very top, and by the time they started taking off their boards (and I my skis) to hike up past the "you can die" signs, I realized I was going to immediately regret this. It was my fault for going with a bunch of crazy boys, but up we hiked.

After a ten minute hike up snow-shaped stairs, I was completely out of breath. Hauling your skis up a snowy hill while wearing ski boots is not fun. The view, however, was breathtaking. I had never felt so removed from the chaos of school and life. My brother and his friends hiked another 20 minutes across the ridge, but I went down my own way through a powdery face. It was challenging, and the boys still beat me back to the lift, but there was something very empowering about getting down a mountain alone. What made it so powerful was the silence that enveloped me. All around me was white. White powder below, white powder above, white walls to my left and right. I tumbled and fell and even lost my pole a time or two, but I made it down. The only thing I could hear was my own breath. While it was frustrating to be alone and feeling like a failure for not getting down more quickly, it opened my eyes to the incredible power of nature.

In the day to day rush of school and to-do lists and commitments, it's easy to forget about the mountains and lakes and rivers that surround us. I learned that as we stumble through our many challenges, it's okay to stop and breathe. We'll all make it down the mountain eventually.