No fear

Much to my parents' dismay, God didn't give me a lot of fear.  I can think of 3 times when this was especially troubling for them:

1) The day I called from Interlaken, Switzerland during my summer study abroad program to say, "Guess what?  I bungy jumped off of a 250 foot cliff today!"  I didn't make a lot of calls home that summer, and at that point, my mom was wishing that I would not call again so she could pretend that I was spending the summer studying Czech History at cafes in Prague rather than diving head first off of a cliff in the Alps.  She may have also been tremoring at the thought of Emergency Room bills sent across the Atlantic, given my recent record at that point of stitches and broken bones.

2) The day I called from Manhattan, KS to tell my mom that for my 22nd birthday, Aaron was taking me sky diving!  Wasn't that just the best present EVER?!  She didn't think so.  I'm pretty sure that on that day, Aaron's stock plummeted.  Unfortunately, when I went up in the rickety old plane with the K-State Parachute Club that day, it suddenly became too cloudy to jump, which leads to...

3) The day I actually went sky diving a few months later.  I think I waited until after the jump to call home.

Luckily, I was introduced at a fairly young age to a sport that is just perfect for fearless personalities like mine: skiing!  There are options for everyone with this sport: snow plowing down Green level runs for those that enjoy control, and full-speed down Black runs for those that live closer to the edge.  I, of course, prefer Blacks to Greens.

Before our trip to the mountains last year, it had been 5 years since I'd been on the slopes, and I rediscovered how much fun it is, so Aaron and I vowed to go again this year.  Last weekend, we met 15 friends (and some strangers!) in Breckenridge for a long weekend of skiing.  About 20 inches of fresh snow fell on the mountains while we were there, which made for the best snow that I've ever skiied.  For the most part, I was with a group of guys in their 20's and 30's, and I made it my goal to not be the last down the mountain, which means I had to go fast.  It is exhilarating to be just beyond the point of having control as you fly down the mountain.

Luckily, this post isn't going to end with a story about a major wipeout that cost me a leg.  Actually, I only fell once, which I told to someone upon my return home, and received a skeptical glance.  I could immediately tell that he was picturing me on a Green, getting passed by the line of ski school kids as I cut all the way across the slope.  I then wished I would have made an effort to fall a couple more times.  I got defensive, and explained that I was with a group of guys!  We were on Blues and Blacks!!  I swear I ski fast!!!  He backed off.  I saw fear in his eyes.  He apparently didn't get the "no fear" gene that I did.