Living on the Edge - flowery prose from a recrudescent ski bum

I grew up and became a ski bum
my parents now think that I'm dumb
money I don't make
classic runs I do take
giving up so much
to develop my touch
for powder and steeps
while playing for keeps
I'm glad I became a ski bum

errr, wait....too juvenile...let's try this...

looking to the top
many obstacles ahead
looming in the distance
many tears to be shed

looking to the top
taking step after step
endless though they seem
gotta take another step

looking to the top
dreams we all can share
aspiring toward success
as though it were a dare

living with the risk
failure looming near
looking to the top
ingnoring others fears

living on the edge
trying to do my best
challenge after challenge
standing up to the test

living on the edge
tread it though I may
hope will be my best friend
to face another day

struggle for the top
setbacks I will take
there's no stopping now
sacrifices I will make

struggle for the top
through the gloomy days
alone within myself
yet the dreams stays

struggle for the top
forces which are great
created all this madness
just what is my fate

struggle on forever?
everything to gain
lose hope and just say never?
succumbing to the pain

living on the edge
trying to do my best
challenge after challenge
standing up to the test

living on the edge
hurdles we must cross
pushing on with passion
ignoring the latest loss

standing on the top
coaxing nerves of steel
and still the pressure
we all can feel

standing on the top
space all around
this sense of freedom
is rarely found

standing on the top
fear of the unknown
overcome it I must
and then I'll be shown

confidence and faith
in my own skills
will lead to adventure
and plenty of thrills

living on the edge
trying to do my best
challenge after challenge
standing up to the test

living on the edge
chances I will take
nothing is for certain
decisions I will make


http://www.gomammoth.com/redslate.jpg



alternative points of view welcome....

Yo esquio todos los dias porque me gusta.

poetry != prose

I am such an idiot....but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last week....

prose /pro-z/ [prohz] adjective, verb, prosed, pros·ing.
–noun 1. the ordinary form of spoken or written language, without metrical structure, as distinguished from poetry or verse.
2. matter-of-fact, commonplace, or dull expression, quality, discourse, etc.
3. Liturgy. a hymn sung after the gradual, originating from a practice of setting words to the jubilatio of the alleluia.
–adjective 4. of, in, or pertaining to prose.
5. commonplace; dull; prosaic.
–verb (used with object) 6. to turn into or express in prose.
–verb (used without object) 7. to write or talk in a dull, matter-of-fact manner.

between learning how to spell skiis and delving into dictionary.com, the membership here has proven itself to be one notch above the average chat, flame, bag on others crowd....but then, perhaps the gauntlet has been thrown and the niceties shall pass into the mists of time......but in order to offer the advertised flowery prose, I submit this for your perusal...



As the harsh reality of the chute looms below, I can't help but feel queazy and nervous. Staring at the landing zone, I try not to look at the horizon. To do so would make me dizzy.



I am standing at the top of Star Chute, on the west end of Mammoth Mountain. This chute is extreme, in every sense of the word. Dropping almost 1,000 feet amidst cliffs, rocks and hanging snowfields, the chute maintains a solid 45-50 degree pitch while never widening to more than 25 feet.



At the bottom lies a hudge rock, and any fall in the upper chute will result in a slide towards it at a truly breakneck pace. Standing among shattered rocks on a small piece of snow, unable to move my skis much in any direction except off the edge into the chute, I yo-yo the ideas of "go for it" and "don't be a fool." Many times before I had been here only to chicken out and grovel my way down the back. Now was the moment I had waited for, yet I am still scared.



The tails of my skis are backed up against rocks, eliminating any skating prior to entry. This is a real bummer, since I need to lunge forward from my static position about 6 feet in order to clear a headwall with the tails of my skis. This headwall, extends across the entire chute, and I am standing in a small notch on the lift edge in basically the only spot allowing entry.



Once clear of the headwall, I am then facing a 10-foot drop onto a concave, 50-degree slab of snow situated above some rocks. This landing zone is known as the 'pit.' and the terrain dictates this particular entry. Upon impact there is no outrun - you either stick it or it sticks you... with dire consequences.



Standing at the top, I am torn between fear and the fact that I am staring down at over 1,000 feet of knee deep powder, untracked, unspoiled by wind, the pitch a solid 45 to 50 degrees.



Nothing else matters but the challenge confronting me. as the drug called adrenaline takes control. "Focus. I gotta focus..." I am thinking to myself, when suddenly the stillness is shattered, like the rock shards around me.



It is one of my friends, way down below, yelling, 'If you're going to do it, go, but don't just stand there!" To this I say nothing. I am scared senseless.



Standing alone and unsure, I think of Brian Jones actually jumping straight in from the top and cranking a left turn first and Brent Bourdeau actually going in backwards from the top 20 years before they called it switch. I also think about John Marc popping into breakable slab and Greg "Hack" Johnson leaping onto rimed ice.



These thoughts are extreme, and the simplicity of my entry makes the situation much more palatable. Envisioning success, I take a few deep breaths, yet somehow feel worse. I mean, I am way up on some cliff, thoroughly exposed, thoughts racing through my head, and now a heckling crowd below. Blocking these thoughts, I just stare at the landing, aware of nothing esle.



Moving my feet around gingerly, ski tips hanging in space, I then plant my poles firmly and lunge with a vengeance. As I throw myself into the void, my mind goes blank as an overwhelming fear takes over.



Impacting and absorbing this drop leaves me breathless. I am in, and it is truly awesome - the air still and the snow soft, in stark contrast to the rock walls and buttresses surrounding me. After a moment, I look down at my friend and yell, " I'll go when I'm ready."



Feeling rather excited, I confinue on, making a jump turn above some rocks and shoot across the chute. Nothing slides, so off I go. The tums come effortlessly as the deep snow comfortably holds me back. The resistance of snow and the steepness of pitch are in perfect balance.

Linking turns, I notice the snow avalanching with me. Nothing major, yet the force could sweep me into and off the rock below if I even try to stop.



Turn after tum, the euphoria builds and as I approach the ominous rock, I crank a turn to the right and dive into a narrow slot between it and Phillipes'. Somewhat steeper here, I whip my skis back and forth in a futile attempt at speed control, blasting my way out of the chute and into the bowl at full speed, resulting in a perma-face shot.



Letting the skis run, I become giddy with delight for the snow is deep and, most importantly, untracked.



Just another day in this spectacular playground we call Mammoth.

hola mi nuevo amigos y amigas