The Capitol | Photography | Jack Frary | 7

“Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” I yelled as I sped down the steep slope littered with moguls. I didn’t know where I had gone wrong. I had been going down a nice, long, and easy green ski slope, and I must have taken a wrong turn. But here I was, rocketing down a steep minefield of moguls. I was sure I was going to crash. I dared not turn for fear of hitting a mogul and flipping head over heels. People were staring at me as I zoomed past them like a blur, completely out of control. I looked ahead and saw a fork in the path. Yes! Anything to get off this path. I turned for the first time since I skied onto this nightmare. The incredible speed I had gathered on that steep horror gradually tapered off as I reached a nearly flat plain of snow and ice. Although less dangerous, this was even worse than that black diamond.

An hour and a half later, I was lost in my own thoughts, slowly making my way down a nice, comfortable green that had branched off of the plateau. As I mulled over the past two and a half hours, I hardly noticed that I was picking up speed. After a couple of minutes, “I didn’t know where I had gone wrong.” I was going about half the speed that I was going on the steep, mogul-lined slope. I was only barely paying attention to where I was going. Out of the hazy fog in my mind, a blue flash of pain seared through me. I found myself on my back, looking up at a tree that seemed to have jumped into my path. My only thought is, “Not again.”