Snowboarding
Fast. Speed. The pristine white snow, broken in places by bumps and ruts that cast short shadows and grant a small amount of depth perception, flies by under me. Cold creeps through my gloves, much different from the biting wind and flakes of snow on my face but leaving the same result. Angry music, possibly Linkin Park but I'm not paying close enough attention to be sure, blasts in my ear and heightens my focus. With a precision and confidence that I only get on the best of runs I dodge a slower skier, then a tree. Swinging my feet around, I pull one final sharp turn with the last of my momentum before the bottom of the hill reaches up to great me. My nose if frozen shut from the cold wind so all I smell is ice and, just noticing as I unbuckle from the board, I taste blood in my mouth. I must have bit my tongue in concentration on one of the difficult maneuvers.
Walking into the warm lodge, heated partially by a pine log fire, I sit at the usual table. I turn off my iPod and the angry music is replaced with the calm sounds of many people talking lightly. The large, soft building seems to absorb the sound, instead of echoing it. The pine scent mixes with my sweat strangely, but overall it's sort of like Old Spice. A swig of hot chocolate replaces the metallic flavor in my mouth with sugar, stinging my sore tongue a little but I don't care, and I lean back to rest my head against the grainy wood beam of a large window. Feeling tired from the intense activity, I fall asleep in the warm embrace of the fragrant fire.