Day 2: It's All Downhill From Here
Feb 15, 2014 19:41:10 GMT
Post by poru on Feb 15, 2014 19:41:10 GMT
"That's... a long way down," Paul said hesitantly as he stood at the top of the slope. Staring down at the course, he couldn't even see the finish line, just a dark blur against the white snow. Presumably that would be the crowd down there gathered around the finish. Bi would be down there now actually, waiting for him. He wasn't entirely sure how he had gotten sucked into competing in something like this. He had barely any experience with this sort of thing back home, let alone doing it for real.
In his younger years, he had gone skiing a few times with his parents, although there wasn't exactly a lot of available places in central Ohio. It was rather flat which didn't make for very good skiing. Still, he had picked it up quickly enough, and throughout high school, on occasion he and his friends would head up to a ski resort to spend the day before driving back late at night. Those memories were some of the only fond ones Paul had of high school, at least directly related to people from his school. Online friends, now that was a different story, but that was neither here nor there.
When he got to college, he had met a few people who competed in skiing events like jumping and moguls, but he had no particular desire to fly hundreds of feet through the air nor to destroy his knees. Slalom had sounded interesting, but the few times he had tried it, he didn't enjoy it very much. There was one event that had caught his attention though: downhill skiing. It was something about the speeds combined with the delicate balance between cutting a corner just right and flying off the course at breakneck speeds that got his blood pumping.
"Ready?" The staff member standing next to Paul said, interrupting his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Paul nodded his head, his muscles tensing. The horn blared and he pushed off on his skis, polls helping him along as well. The goal right now was to get out of the gate as fast as possible. He knew he could worry about the turn when he got to it. There was no way he'd pick up enough speed right now to have concerns over slowing down for the turn.
Crouching down, he entered the form he had been taught to lower the resistance to the wind. He banked around the first right turn, one of his poles just barely nicking the flag on the corner's edge. He could feel his skis bouncing against the hard packed snow that had slowly been turning to ice as the day wore on. Each skier packed down the snow more, and with no new snow fall, each run made the slope progressively worse.
Steeling himself, he let his body take over as he had practiced this run enough to not have to actively think about it. Left turn, right turn, straightaway, another left turn. The wind whipped past his face, and his legs ached from keeping him in this crouched position. So far he had hit the lines for each turn as well as possible, and his speed kept steadily rising. If he had to guess, he was probably going over sixty miles per hour right now, approaching seventy.
After another nerve wracking series of turns, he was on the final stretch down to the finish line. All that stood between him and that line was a short up hill stretch that would launch him into the air. It wasn't anything on the scale of the proper jumping, but he would still be airborne for a second or two. His teeth set themselves against each other as he lifted off into the air. The brief moment of feeling weightless was always unnerving but quickly disappeared as he began falling again. The skis made contact and his knees bent even more as they took his weight, but he remained on his feet, streaking towards the finish line.
As he crossed, he let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he had given it his best shot. He knew he probably wouldn't win. There were competitors here who had been competing for much longer than he had. They were the ones who were posting times seconds faster than Paul. But he hadn't embarrassed himself. In the end, that's what mattered, he thought to himself as he coasted to where he saw his partner waiting for him, a smile on her face.
In his younger years, he had gone skiing a few times with his parents, although there wasn't exactly a lot of available places in central Ohio. It was rather flat which didn't make for very good skiing. Still, he had picked it up quickly enough, and throughout high school, on occasion he and his friends would head up to a ski resort to spend the day before driving back late at night. Those memories were some of the only fond ones Paul had of high school, at least directly related to people from his school. Online friends, now that was a different story, but that was neither here nor there.
When he got to college, he had met a few people who competed in skiing events like jumping and moguls, but he had no particular desire to fly hundreds of feet through the air nor to destroy his knees. Slalom had sounded interesting, but the few times he had tried it, he didn't enjoy it very much. There was one event that had caught his attention though: downhill skiing. It was something about the speeds combined with the delicate balance between cutting a corner just right and flying off the course at breakneck speeds that got his blood pumping.
"Ready?" The staff member standing next to Paul said, interrupting his thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Paul nodded his head, his muscles tensing. The horn blared and he pushed off on his skis, polls helping him along as well. The goal right now was to get out of the gate as fast as possible. He knew he could worry about the turn when he got to it. There was no way he'd pick up enough speed right now to have concerns over slowing down for the turn.
Crouching down, he entered the form he had been taught to lower the resistance to the wind. He banked around the first right turn, one of his poles just barely nicking the flag on the corner's edge. He could feel his skis bouncing against the hard packed snow that had slowly been turning to ice as the day wore on. Each skier packed down the snow more, and with no new snow fall, each run made the slope progressively worse.
Steeling himself, he let his body take over as he had practiced this run enough to not have to actively think about it. Left turn, right turn, straightaway, another left turn. The wind whipped past his face, and his legs ached from keeping him in this crouched position. So far he had hit the lines for each turn as well as possible, and his speed kept steadily rising. If he had to guess, he was probably going over sixty miles per hour right now, approaching seventy.
After another nerve wracking series of turns, he was on the final stretch down to the finish line. All that stood between him and that line was a short up hill stretch that would launch him into the air. It wasn't anything on the scale of the proper jumping, but he would still be airborne for a second or two. His teeth set themselves against each other as he lifted off into the air. The brief moment of feeling weightless was always unnerving but quickly disappeared as he began falling again. The skis made contact and his knees bent even more as they took his weight, but he remained on his feet, streaking towards the finish line.
As he crossed, he let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he had given it his best shot. He knew he probably wouldn't win. There were competitors here who had been competing for much longer than he had. They were the ones who were posting times seconds faster than Paul. But he hadn't embarrassed himself. In the end, that's what mattered, he thought to himself as he coasted to where he saw his partner waiting for him, a smile on her face.