45 3 0

"Ok, all done, now, lets go skiing." My dad said. He took my hand and we walked out of the store. It's hard walking in ski boots, I had forgotten about that, but it took my mind of the cold. Even when I tried my best to walk naturally, I couldn't do it. So, instead, I decided to pretend I was a storm trooper from Star Wars. I marched behind my dad and followed him towards our ski's. 

When we walked to the gondola I carried my skis on my shoulder like the adults, but It was hard to do. There was no way to avoid walking like the stiff-legged storm trooper I had become and it was difficult to keep up with my dad. I cleared a path through the crowd with the imaginary grenade launcher my skis had transformed into. 

My feet were wet, but they didn't hurt as much as before. My dad bought our lift tickets and he peeled the back off of one of them, and stuck it on a little triangular piece of metal, which went through the zipper on my jacket. 

We entered the lift line together and got our passes scanned. In front of us was a ski-family who must have been locals. They all had season passes, the laminated kind, with photo portraits in the corners. 

In small shuffles we moved forward. I examined the machinery that drove the gondola. It was gigantic. A grinding, banging machine, loud and large. Behind us a group of snowboarders entered the line up. 

They were dressed differently than the rest of the skiers. Everything about them was BIG. Their snowboards were wide, the bindings were long, with buckles and straps everywhere, and they all had long curly hair coming out from different colored, saggy, woolen beanies. Even when they moved, they lurched along in a haphazard way that stood out from the skiers surrounding them. 

I was studying how it worked, doing my best to catch glimpses through the blockade of polyester ski pants formed around me. The gondola doors swung open across the track from us and rounded the corner with a mechanized symmetry. Each gondola would get filled with 8-10 people. Before anyone could sit, or get settled, the doors would shut and the gondola would speed out of the terminal and up the mountain.

"Ready Nick?" My dad placed his ungloved palm on the back of my neck. It felt dry, like a big warm towel, and it made me feel protected. 

"Yup." I said with enthusiasm.

I stepped onto the gondola, and turned to make sure my dad stepped on too. 

"Sorry sir, gonna have to get you on the next one." An Australian "lifty" said to my dad.

"That's my son." My dad said, pointing at me and taking a step closer to the gondola. 

Behind my dad was the group of snowboarders, devilishly hovering over the entranceway for the gondola, waiting for the next one to open. 

The doors began closing on either side of me. I struggled to find somewhere to stand. My huge ski boots slipped on the wet metallic floor. 

"Dad?" I shouted, "DAD!"

Frost - #JustWriteIt #SportsWhere stories live. Discover now