Momma’s gonna buy you a . . .

The eerie lullaby floated out over the camp again.  I had lost all ability to discern whether it was real or merely a figment of my broken imagination.  I twisted fitfully in my cot again.  I was supposed to be happy I wasn’t on night duty, but the sweet air of the night tortured me.  It wouldn’t let me sleep.

. . . and if that bird don’t sing

Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring . . .

I draped my arm over the side of the cot, exposing it to the dry cool air of the desert night.  I reached under the bed and found the cold metal there.  As my hand brushed against the cool steel, the singing abruptly stopped.  I grabbed my flashlight, clicking it on and swinging it around the quiet tent.

“Shut that fucking thing off Lee, some of us are trying to sleep in this hellhole.” A groan rose from a nearby cot.

“Sorry Oz” I clicked it off, rolling it across the floor under my bed again.  I shifted onto my back, staring up at the canvas of the tent.

. . . hush little baby . . .

“Get UP you idiot.” Oz stood over me, shaking me violently, in full combat gear.  His helmet shook almost comically on his head and I smiled.  I could hear a faint fizzing coming from outside.

“Why good morning my dear Oz, making me bacon all dressed up?”

“You fucking shithead, get dressed.  Now.  Unless you’d like to be eating goddamned sand for breakfast.”  He quickly shifted away and I shot my legs out from under the rough field blanket.  The fizzing got louder, and I pulled my combat boots on.  In the field you were required to sleep in your desert fatigues, so I strapped on my vest, grabbed my pack, and wrapped my holster around my right thigh.  Everyone had left the tent already and I could now hear their shouts outside.  I ran outside, my boots still untied.  Oz was bent over on the ground, and the fizzing was coming from some strange box on the ground.  I starting rushing towards him; and he turned and shouted to me.

“Lee, no . . .”

And then the sky opened up.

Hush little baby don’t you cry . . .

I was floating.

I was falling.

Fuck.

Jesus.  Fuck.

The ringing wouldn’t stop.  Everything shook.   At first I thought I was blind, than I realized my eyes were still screwed shut.  I peeled open my eyelids, my head still vibrating and ringing just like a post-concert migraine.  The dust was still settling, but I could see Oz sprawled prone on the ground.  His left arm was gone.  He had been resting it on the fizzing thing when it went.  I shouted his name, but nothing came out.  I could hear the vibrations, but I couldn’t hear the shouting.  I started to my knees, and screamed as my right leg buckled under me, all my weight on it as I tried to rise.  I looked down and saw the gaping wound on my right thigh.  I collapsed to the ground and started breathing heavy.  The shock was wearing off and I tried to resist the urge to hyperventilate.

Jesus.

Jesus-fucking-Christ.  Goddamned SONAFBITCH.

I knew I was saying them but I couldn’t hear them.  Only think them.  My hand rushed to my thigh.  As I felt the warm blood start to seep across the cracks in my hands, suddenly the fizzing started again.  Louder.

Shit.

Again.

Black.

Hush little baby don’t you cry

Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.

So I heard.

So I heard you like the rain.

So I heard you like roast beef sandwiches.

So I heard you like Lost.

So I heard you like Moondance.

So I heard you like flannels.

So I heard you like moisturizer.

So I heard you like tennis.

So I heard you like econ.

So I heard you like me.

Heh. Not sure why I wrote that. Whatever. Thursday was fine. I woke up at around 8:30, decided I didn’t want to go to physics, so I took my time in my shower. Realized I had a UTI. I’m kinda prone to those anyway, so it’s no big deal, I’ll be over it in a few days. Got in my shorts and tank, and went to my trumpet lesson. Had an excellent day of lounging around, sans class dress. Didn’t go to lunch, went to fool around in wind ensemble. I actually like A Night in Tunisia a lot. It’s by far my fav jazz tune.

Then went rowing. My back is so fucked up I can’t really row the way I want to, and I’m going to have to take that erg test on Monday. Plus I want to be stroke and Beth ends up getting it for Saturday . . . whatever. I’m too small to be doing this sport anyway. They say size doesn’t matter but that’s bs. Especially in rowing.

And Womanizer comes on again, I swear, this song has come on EVERYTIME I start my iTunes. It’s almost annoying at this point. Since I’m feeling creative today and realized I’d already done all my homework, I’m going to write some stuff and work on my personal narrative for War Novels. That’s going to be an interesting project. Not sure how personal I want to be, and the epigraph I chose makes the essay somewhat awkward. I’ll post it here when I’m done, but it’s not due ’til Monday, so I’m way ahead of my usual paper schedule, which involves doing the paper the night before. I’m sorta worried about skipping physics today. I really don’t wanna get APs for that and a lot of people skipped today so he mighta noticed. Not sure, whatever, I don’t have enough to get Strictions anyway.

Guess that’s enough. I’ll post some of the stuff I write tonight up here. Good evening darlings.

Went up to NMH on Monday, had a lovely evening as always.  I’ve been actually doing work lately, which is weird.  Mostly because Ed has work, and I do it while he does it.  Otherwise I never devote time to do it at all haha.

Latin never really takes time, but I usually at least glance at it.  War Novels is so easy, I actually enjoy doing it.  We usually just read and then write some journal entry or another, it’s not hard at all.  Calculus is just boring.  Just plain boring.  I usually do other work in there or text haha.  Physics is just sad now.  I don’t know what to do but I don’t wanna ask him what I should be doing . . . so iunno.  I guess I’ll just ride out the year.  I can do that.  I’m into college and I just don’t care anymore.  Wind ensemble is fun, A Night in Tunisia is a great song, and I’m sooo excited we’re finally playing it.  I’m a little worried about my huge ass solo, but I’ll manage fine.  Most of it is written out, and just a few bars of improv.  It won’t be bad.

Tuesday another second visit day.  Happy those things are over.  I only had ONE second visit day person in ALL of my classes.  Which was sorta weird.It was in wind ensemble.  Poor kid, had to sit through Four Brothers.  That song is just brutal.  It’s too fast for the saxophonists really, and the brass line is just dumb.  Rowing that day was depressing.  Beth is gonna get 3rd boat stroke and I’ll probably be 4th boat stroke.  I was thinking about quitting crew before and now it’s really getting serious.  I might just say I’ll go coxswain or quit.  I’m too small to row really, but I’d be a good sized coxswain.  I’m just a bit on the heavy side.  I mean still, 118lbs is not heavy.  I guess I’m tall.  There’s not a lot I can do about being shorter.  I’m not sure what I’m gonna do about that.

Today was okay.  Had an interesting night and morning, but, it got a lot better this morning.  The evening was fantastic.  And now this morning, it’s even better.  This weekend is just gonna blow.  I also got out of the erg test today, I’m so excited.  I could NOT do that today.  I’m just sore and tired and NO.  We have a technical row after and I have a really good boat though, so I’ll be good.  I’ll just do the test on monday, after our row on Saturday.  So exciteddddd.  NMH meettttt.  Gonna kick ass, as per always.  Just gotta look like an idiot in my uni . . . not sure how I feel about that.  I’ll manage.

I’m also freaking tan.  I love it.  Just wanted to let you all know.

Au revoire darlings.

Last night I didn’t do any work.  And when I say any, I mean I specifically had work I should have done and I didn’t.  But, the thing that really kinda depresses me is that I came in 5 min early and got it all done, and then proceeded to do my 2nd period work during 1st period, 3rd during 2nd.  I only have 3 classes anymore really, because physics and wind ensemble don’t count.  I think physics will actually start requiring some work soon, but not work in the sense that I’ll have homework, merely that we have to get those goddamn cars running haha.

For some reason I’m happy to be alive.  Like, too happy.  I feel like one of those people who gets in some near death car accident, and then has a new found appreciation for life.  It’s a little weird.  The sun makes me incredibly happy.  Skirts make me incredibly happy.  I feel like this is my first insane bout of giddiness in a long time.  It’s strange, because while I’m usually and upbeat person, I had a rather depressing winter.  I’ve never been depressed, and even when I enter my lowest state it’s usually a normal person’s high, but I operate a higher energy level then everyone else.  If I haven’t convinced myself that what I’m doing is awesome and important I just can’t do it.  So, don’t be too weirded out by my strangeness.  It’s how I operate.

I’m not sure what I attribute to it.  Ed.  School being over for the most part.  Being into college.  It’s all coming together.  The pieces have fallen where I wanted them.  Nothing looms dangerously over me anymore.  I mean, there’s always that fear of going to graduate school, and my career, but right now, those are too far away.  I have the free footed-ness I had when I was a little 8th grader accepted to Deerfield.  My life has a plan and I can just chill for a while.  There’s stability again.  I think that’s most of it.  I know there’s someone there for me, I know I have a plan that I can’t stray from, and right now I’m just thankful for that.

More later I suppose.  Valete.

So, the last time I posted colleges were consuming my life.  Well, that consuming is almost over.  I’ve pretty much decided on Colgate.  Assuming nothing horrible happens when I go for my visits and they’ll still accept me.  I got rejected from Cornell and Vandy just seemed too far away.  I’ll go to one of the visit days in April, seeing as I’ve never even been there, but, I’m fairly certain.  It’s nice knowing the search is over and that I got into a reasonably good school.  Huge weight off my shoulders.  And I”m comforted by the fact that if Colgate doesn’t have the prestigious name I’m looking for I can always go somewhere else for graduate school (which I WILL be attending).

This weekend was the Sugar Slalom up at Stowe.  I’ve never been before so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  I went with Ed, which, honestly, I wouldn’t have gone by myself.  That’s why I had never gone in past years, because Berkshire East fails when it comes to good female skiers, so I never had anyone to go with.  And I also had rowing.  I didn’t go to school on Friday so I had plenty of time to do skis in my basement.  I ended up doing Ed’s as well so I spent a good 4 hours in the basement.  It was 70F out and sunny and I was in the basement.  We didn’t even have a wax warm enough for the first day.  It was supposed to be 70F both days in Stowe, Saturday and Sunday, but it ended up being 80F on Saturday and more like 60F today.  Saturday was unbelievable.   The hottest I have ever skied in.  I had to take all my long underwear off and even then, my GS suit was unbearably warm.  I skied, nothing more to really say about that.  I haven’t run gates in over 2 months, so it wasn’t anything pretty, but I got to spend the day with Ed, so it was overall a good day.  That evening, the rents went to dinner with us, and that was interesting as always.  Ed and I got a lovely celebratory cake from a table of his friends.  That night was quite interesting.  Today I woke up kinda late, but we had paneled slalom.  I’ve never raced paneled slalom either haha.  But it was a USSA sanctioned event, and hopefully the points were semi-good.  Jimmy Cochran from the US ski team was there, he only has 5 points, so it was a good race for the guys.  Ed came down his first run and had a good race, but fell over the finish line and took out all the timing equipment.  Haha, they held the race for like an hour.  Just another hour of waiting.  That race was the longest wait wise ever.  Took almost twice as long as a  normal race.  I didn’t leave til around 3:30 and I left RIGHT after my run.  It was fun tho.

School tomorrow.  Not looking forward to it.  School just seems to be something to do when I can’t do what I want to, it merely sucks up time.  Same with crew.  But I guess I should thank it cause otherwise I’d be insane.  Au revoir mes chéris

Colleges.
They consume my soul. At least I’m almost done hearing from them. Here’s the almost complete list.

Accepted:
UVM
Case Western
Drexel
Boston University
Vanderbilt
Colgate
George Washington

Wait Listed:
Hamilton
Tufts

Rejected:
MIT
Duke
Johns Hopkins

Unknown:
Cornell

Cornell comes out today.  I’m not sure how I’m going to respond to that, seeing as right now it’s my first choice.  Order of where I want to go, as of now, is probably; Cornell, Colgate, Vanderbilt.  With Tufts thrown in after Colgate if I can get off the wait list there.  I didn’t get into any of my 30%s, which is okay I guess, but buu on the college system.  I’m not really freaking out, nor am I really depressed.  I got into some good schools, and I knew all along that somewhere would take me.  And I also had a rather deviant plan to just do a PG year if shit really hit the fan.  I know some ski schools that take very, very late applications.  Hahaha.  The only few that surprised me where the wait lists.  I don’t understand Hamilton at all, like, at all, I drove all the way there for a freaking interview in a white out, and they have the balls to wait list me.  Well screwwww you Hamilton, Colgate wants me and they’re just a better version of you.  Tufts was also surprising, but I blame it on the fact that I didn’t do the interview, or . . . show any interest in general.  They were like my meh school.  Well, let’s stop talking about this shall we.

Right now, I could reallyyy give a shit less about school.  I’m doing my work, but pretty much only because I feel bad when Ed is doing his, so I suffer along with him.  I could get by with doing almost nothing . . . yet, I do feel good when I do work, mostly because I have nothing else constructive to do with my time.  I have all the same classes except I’m taking wind ensemble credit now, and I’m in Mr. Ott’s War Novels class.  That class is incrediblyyy interesting.  It’s got quite a few PGs in it and a few juniors as well.  Liz Earle and I (YES I FIXED IT, almost did Me and Liz Earle . . . ) are the only girls in that class, and I’m way too into war and books about war to not like that class.   A Farewell to Arms is on the menu right now, and it’s a pretty good book, mostly because I can analyze the shit out of it in class.  Who ever knew I had a talent for analytics?  Take that American Studies, take that.  That class ruined my self esteem, no joke.  I just couldn’t figure out what they wanted from me, but it seems that I know exactly what everyone wants in every other class, because I destroy in all my English classes that don’t involve Mr. Henry.  Maybe we just don’t get along.

Physics Research is Physics Research.  I’m actually supposed to do work now.  It’s interesting.  I still spend too much time not doing anything and eating, but before Andy and I were actually getting work done . . . so it’s a trade off.  Having like, 20 people in a room doing the work of 3 is an interesting thing to watch, and in general slows the whole class down, but I’m not complaining.   I’m skipping Latin right now, if that tells you anything about how I feel about Latin.  And I actually think that blogging is an immeasurably better use of my time then that class.  I’m just fed up with it.  We never know what our homework is, the senior girls do all the work, no one talks, it’s just . . . ugh.  Half the class is spent on tangents.  I can’t wait ’til I’m done with goddamn foreign language classes.  Although now I want to take French.  So that’ll be interesting if I achieve in finding classes this summer.  Math=Easy.  End of discussion.  I spend half that class texting, and still know more then half the people in there.  I don’t know if they’re just not paying attention or what, but honestly, 5 year olds could do that work.

Wind Ensemble with my dearest trumpeters is interesting.  I realized again yesterday that I am the only female in that class, besides the occasional pianist who no longer comes in.  Yet somehow I fit in.  I seem to co-mingle with males a hell of a lot better then I do with females anyway.  I’m not really sure why girls don’t like me, but the feeling is mutual.  Guys are just so much more forward, and stupid, and hilarious.  I can deal with that.  I can’t deal with petty females.  It’s just rather annoying more then anything else.

Crew is also trying to kill me.  I realized I’m like, the 3rd slowest person the team, but again, I weigh almost 20lbs less then everyone else, so that’s the only thing that consoles me right now.  I’m also really considering coxing in college, so I’m trying to feel out how I’d be at that.  Coxing boys would be one of the greatest things I can possibly imagine doing.  I just don’t know if I’m small enough.  I might be a little tall.  Lemme just give you a taste of what my week in crew has been like.

Monday

Chutch and Hally are both out.  Blair leaves our illustrious lower eight, and I am moved to the lovely 2 seat.  Beth is stroke, Marly 7, and I sit 2 with the new novvie behind me.  I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to teach somehow how to row in an eight, when everyone else knows what they’re doing and expects you to as well, but it’s a harrowing experience.  Especially when you’ve NEVER EVER rowed before.  I tried my best and by the end she was presentable, but God, oh God why did it have to be me.  I’m like the meanest one in that boat. And it was pouring.  Just pouring.

Tuesday

Chutch is back.  We get Blair back, but Beth is still stroking.  I move back to 2 seat once again, and this time Marly is behind me.  At least she knows how to row.  It was just pouring and freezing out.  We did 4 nine minute pieces, at full pressure low rating.  The only words I can use to describe it is it was like the Anti-hell out there.  Ice and water and cold and pain and suffering and crying and dying.  And I was in the bow, so that goddamned boat was heavy.  Very heavy.

Wednesday

Hell. Only word to describe it.  I go to the boathouse expecting a nice day on the water, all decked out in my Copper skiing stuff, I looked like a badass.  To my dismay, once I arrive, a little late (WoW was calling me, I had to finish that last quest . . .) I find out the water is too high, from all the rain.  Sooooo, that means erg day.  Fuck.  I hate erg days.  But, I was willing to persevere, how bad could it be?  BAD.  STUPID STUPID HAYLEY, VERY BAD.  A typical race in high school is 1500m.  So . . . in order to prepare us pacing wise.  We were told we were doing FOUR 1500M PIECES.  AT YOUR RACE PACE.  When girls do a 1500m at race pace, it’s called an erg test.  The word sends shivers down my spine.  Have you ever seen 10 girls throw up at once?  I have.  In a line, outside, AFTER AN ERG TEST.  You push yourself ’til there’s nothing left.  So, you can imagine, when they said 4 1500ms, I was expecting a slower pace.  NO, you do them AT YOUR ERG TEST PACE.  That’s the PUKING pace.  We were granted 1 min of rest in between 500s tho.  So, it went like this.  500m of pain, 1min of rest, 500m of intense pain, 1min rest, 500m of tear jerking, unbelievable pain, then 10min of rest while they got the times, and yes, they were taking times, so this was not only horrible but also a competition.  We did three of those, and on the last 500 of the third one, Beth gets up, runs outside, and pukes.  Yup, almost threw up all over her erg.  That’s when we were done.  We were all pissed that they said 4 and only made us do 3, but I wasn’t going to really complain about it.

Hopefully today goes better.  It better go better.  I’ll add more to this later, but it’s war novels time.  Hell, I’ll make a whole new post.  Social life ftw.

Just had to let it out. I can’t say just why yet, but you’ll find out soon enough.

So, sorry I’ve been a little lame with the updates on the trip, I haven’t had full internet the entire time and updating on an iphone really sucks. So, since last time, we traveled from North Carolina down to South Carolina. On the way we stopped at Duke, my dreammm, my lifeeee. It was so beautiful there and the weather was perfect. Made me love Duke even more. Then we were on our way south yet again. We traveled through all of North Carolina and almost to Georgia, stopping on the border of South Carolina and Georgia. I almost wanted to die, and at one point did resort to watching Twilight . . . it was the only thing on my computer I hadn’t seen yet, I swear! We got the the Hilton there, and since it was around 6:30, I decided it’d be a great time for a swim. It was around 50F out, so bikinis and Daisy Duke apparel donned, we ran down to the beach and sprinted the last 100ft into the water. It was freezing, as you may imagine, so I was in to my knees and about done. Then, frozen, we decided the hot tub would be sick, which it was. Until . . . some creepy old guy came over and appeared to be pleasuring himself on one of the jets . . . yeah, I was about done. We headed back, and it was room service that night (I had paid for internet and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna miss a minute of it). We headed south to Florida the next day. We were off right away, and Taylor was so busy TEXTING JAROD that she LEFT MUDKIPZ, luckily we went back for him. Thank god. That trip was so uneventful. Besides a few interesting games of Geography. We arrived at Florida with enough time to work out (which I have to do now, freaking crew) and then go stuff my face full of salmon that night. Best . . . night . . . ever. Tell you later if you ask like good boys. Since I couldn’t sleep, I was awoken quite frightfully the next morning at 8. Time to get to Universal. I’ve been there a few times in my short life, so I sorta knew what I wanted to do. All the old rides I loved had been closed to build that new Harry Potter park though, which I am SO UPSET I MISSED. I’m coming back for it. They had two new rides that were worth it though, so I had a good day. Almost got tattoos with boys names in them . . . but decided that was too sketchy. TEMPORARY tattoos, I’m not that crazy. Went back to the room, and bought a days worth of internet. Thank god, I needed it. Got signed up for the Sugar Slalom in Stowe, and got to play PLENTY of Wow, get my fix on. So, today, I stayed up kinda late, so I woke up at 9 and again, started on wow. I’ll probably play ’til 1, when my net shuts off, then time to go to those freaking huge outlets I saw on the way down here. It’s gonna be great. I’ll try to keep you all updated while I’m in Florida at crew, cause I think I’ll have full internet there. We’ll see. Love yah all!

Last night I almost hit 39 on my lock. Affff so close. I’ll have my second felsteed soon enough. I love playing with the guys, and I can tell already this game is even more dominated by men then asda was. Only spells good things for me, they always love the girls =p I won’t be able to play much the second week because I’ll be rowing, but I’m gonna try to play every night this week, as long as I’m not out to dinner. Even then my parents sleep a ton, so we probably won’t be out too late. This morning was pretty bad though, I just wanted to sleep, sitting in a car takes a lot out of yah apparently.

I won’t discuss my life with everyone right now. But yahhh, shiz going down. If you want, you can ask me about it, but if you have something in mind that’s probably it.

I loveeee you all and as much as I miss you I’m enjoying my sleep ins! Toodles, I’ll try to post everydayyy.

The most beautiful sound I ever heard.
Maria.

I stood up, wiping the snow off my ass. “I’m number fifteen; don’t get your freaking panties in a bunch.” I unzipped my treasured snow pants, the zipper pulls long since removed and replaced with duct tape. I groaned as I realized that I’d have to take my gloves off. I ripped one off, shoving it between my knees, and pulled the misshapen tag from my ankle to my waist. I shivered, the cold air running over my hand and reducing my fingers to mere claws. I bent over, subjecting the same hand to that torture again, and tossed my pants against a tree. I stomped my feet, trying to bring my toes back to life, and rubbed my thighs, warming my suit up. I yanked my headphone out of my helmet and delicately wrapped my iPod up, tucking it in my jacket pocket.

I continued to run in place, trying to keep my legs, if nothing else, warm. A plume of steam rose from my jacket, and was soon carried off by the wind, which was whistling between the trees I was using for some makeshift shelter. I shivered again, and slowly took the strap off my babies. Do not be disturbed by the fact that I call my skis my babies, especially when I spend more time caring for them then I would an actual child. I placed them on the ground, pushing them into the snow and creating a ledge where I could clip in. I sighed again, watching number two kick out of the start gate.

“Sean! Gonna help me out here?”

“Depends. You gonna ski like a little girl again?”

“Of course not, who do you take me for?”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

I groaned, and rolled my eyes at him. He walked over to me, pushing me as he did. I’d become used to it, so I didn’t hit the ground, but I ended up stumbling a few steps back. I pushed him back, his one foot leaving the ground, like always, barely affected by it. He smiled, and then bent down on his knee, taking out his ancient screwdriver my uncle had given him years and years ago.

“Right foot up kiddo” I leaned forward against my poles, straddling my skis, and picked up my right foot. He set to work on it, getting rid of all the ice. Even a millimeter of ice can eject you when you’re going 60, so Sean was methodical.

“All set . . . you gonna just stand there or click in?”

“I’m going, I’m going!” I shouted.

He shook his head, he knew I was getting nervous because as he always tells me, “When Hayley gets nervous, she won’t shut up, so just send her down the course.” I ran my boot over my toepiece, trying to get some of the snow off, and then picked it up again, and he preformed the same methodical check on that one. He let go of my boot I and slammed the other one home, feeling my knee jolt reassuringly. You can always feel a good click.

“Get in line, 10’s going”. I took a deep breath, ripped both my gloves off and bending over my knees . . . took my jacket off. This was the most painful five minutes of my day. The five minutes between your jacket and the bottom.

The four minutes you spend standing in line. Your mind is on fire. Your body is made of ice. The wind is ripping through the thin piece of fabric you call a suit and you just want to curl up and die. Adrenaline threatens to push the contents of your stomach into public view and you repeatedly ask yourself what the hell you are doing here. Then you’re in the gate. I can’t ever remember standing in line . . . ever, but I do remember standing in the gate. Time stops. You can actually hear your heart beating, pounding in your ears. The starter counts down, “Racer ready, 3, 2, 1, Go” but I only hear the 3, only the 3. I take a breath, lean back . . . and then kick forward, my tails leaving the ground and my upper body flying forward. I fly past the first gate, shouldering it to the ground, than I settle, and get ready for the ride. I cock my ankles and knees to that perfect angle, and let my legs take over. You don’t think during skiing, you just remember. My breathing is measured, and the only time I realize what I’m doing is when I get hit in the face, which unfortunately happens all too often. I curse and bash myself as I push harder to the end. Then it’s over. Fifty seconds . . . and it’s over. My hand flies to my stomach and I bend over my knees, because whatever was keeping my adrenaline in check fails, and it floods through me. I slowly pick my head up and skate out of the finish area, and over to the scoreboard. The scoreboard is my least favorite place, always. Scanning the all too familiar names, looking at times, trying to figure out your place, if you made top thirty or top ten. Eventually I give up and click out of my skis; leaning them up against a nearby rack and retiring to my long awaited lunch.

I’ve never really enjoyed a Saturday night, at least during the winter. There’s a strict rule in my house, to bed before 10 before a race. When you race every Sunday and train all day Saturday, you usually end up passing out before 10 anyway. Especially when the race day means a 5am wakeup, like it always does. And every Saturday night follows the same ritual. My father holes himself up in the tuning room, surrounded by skis and wax and files. I timed him once; it takes him forty minutes to do a pair of skis. And he usually has at least 2, and sometimes 4 pairs to do on a race night. He’s always in there for at least 2 hours. I usually wander in after hour 1, my computer in tow. I check the temperature, assuring myself he’s using the right wax. Then I’ll curl up on a nearby couch while he finishes the edges, then take over the waxing. I can’t bear to have different hands on my babies that long. I run my thumb against the edge, testing it, smiling as I feel it bite across the ridges of my thumb. Once I’ve waxed, scraped, and brushed to my satisfaction, I take the rubber bands off the brakes and slide them home together. I strap them back up, and then lean them against the door for tomorrow, next to my sister’s. I double check my bag, making sure my massive assortment of equipment is in its proper home. Realizing you’ve left your goggles at home when it’s 7am and you’re 2 hours away from them is a daunting experience, and a very upsetting one. Usually by then my eyes are heavy, and I always fall asleep seeing myself running the course the next morning.

Skiing is life compressed. Skiing does not allow for error, or stupidity. It does not allow for weakness. Any weakness. When margins are within the hundredth of a second, you have no time to react, only time to do. And if you’re doing something wrong, you can’t fix it. I was training giant slalom, a young J4, I was only 13 at the time. I saw a roll coming up, and I scrunched my knees, preparing to take the impact, but instead of just rolling over it, my skis left the ground, and I pitched forward. I ejected out of both skis, at around 60. I tumbled over 80ft, through a patch of woods, and finally coming to rest against a tree, skis and poles littered behind me and my body wrapped limply around a tall birch. Sean ran over, and my teammates looked on as I slowly stood up, holding my hand. The snow was just settling, and as I stumbled away from the tree, I complained venomously, “Goddamnit . . . my thumb really hurts.” Sean laughed, threw my pole at me, and then went to go get my skis, which were some 40 feet back up the hill. I’ve been in fewer tussles than anyone else on my team, but I’ve been hospitalized twice. I’ve seen boys break their legs, I’ve seen girls fly into steel at 60, and I’ve seen people die. Yes, it’s scary. It’s something I wrestle with everyday, but compared to skiing, nothing else is scary. How can a tiny field hockey ball be scary when you’ve crashed into a steel tower? How can another human being be scary when they’re only made of flesh and blood and bone, nothing compared to a tree at 70. It’s all a matter of perspective I suppose.

Skiing is success against all odds. The cold, the fear, the equipment failures, I have never had a perfect run. I will never have a perfect run. My head coach once told me, after a particularly horrible race, “If skiing teaches you nothing else Hayley, it teaches you perseverance, because shit is always going wrong.” As you can tell, skiers are not eloquent people. That’s the one rule in skiing, you can’t stop. I may fall, or get frostbite, but I always go out again. Something about it draws you in. Maybe it’s the thrill, like that moment when the roller coaster grinds to a halt at the top of the first drop . . . and your throat tightens, your knuckles turn white against the handle, and you drop down. You drop into darkness. That moment in the starting gate is the same feeling. But there’s no sense of familiar safety. I’m comforted by the fact that this roller coaster is safe, that no one dies. But in the start gate, I know that I could die. I know that I’m one mistake from going head first into fencing or trees. I have to trust myself to keep myself alive. I’m not sure how many people feel that way on a daily basis, but I doubt it’s many. I think back on it, and can’t believe I did it. I openly chose to do something in which I could die. I don’t consider myself an insane person, but is that not the definition of one? I suppose we all choose our insanity, in some way.

Many skiers are just glorified adrenaline junkies. Base jumpers, ski divers, we all share a common thread, a common need. We all want to go fast, and to toe that very thin line between exhilaration and death. Some people don’t feel alive until they’re skiing, until their bodies are pushed to the edge and you can honestly see death in front of you. When your vision blurs with tears of speed and the forces tearing at your body make your aching muscles tremble. That’s when you feel your own power, pulsing under the surface of your skin. That tingling . . . that familiar tingling. Like you’re invincible, like no mountain can conquer you, like you control your very destiny. Then you get to the bottom and realize what a fool you were.

My own will has been bent to suit the needs of skiing. It uses me like some sick tool. I often feel like I have no choice but to continue skiing. When you’ve fallen, and your entire body screams in pain, if both your skis are still on you, you freaking finish. It doesn’t matter if you pass out at the bottom. As I slid into the finish after a MISL race, I saw my friend turn around and grin at me, missing her two front teeth. She’d been hit by a gate and kept going. She was bleeding from her lip and they rushed her to the hospital right after, but not after she saw her time. She went to school the next day with a full set of teeth, although a few were a little colorful. It wouldn’t have surprised me if this friend was a 200lbs hockey player, but she’s a slight girl, two years younger than me. Skiing makes you stronger then you imagined. Because quite frankly, I know I’d do the same thing.

I will never understand the workings of my own mind. I will never comprehend what drives me to do some of the things I do. One thing I will always know however. That I am a creation of my surroundings. And that my surroundings move fast.