Have you ever been faced with the decision between going the easy way or the hard way? Most likely, you have chosen the easy way over the hard way a multitude of times. But when you make the exception and take the risk to step out of your comfort zone and go the extra mile, you gain something more. I was faced with this very decision myself, and I made the decision to step out of my comfort zone and try something new.

     There is a ski resort about a four hour drive from Albany called Jay Peak. It is an extremely vast mountain that contains many ski trails. The trails range from extremely flat and effortless to steep and filled with jagged rocks, slick ice, and thick powder. My most memorable run was from the top of the mountain. It runs right underneath the lift that carries you to the very top. And the worst part? To call it a “trail” is completely erroneous. With rocks, stumps, logs, ice, and potholes all hidden by a thin sheet of snow, this “trail” was nearly impossible for someone of my skill level. Just knowing that I could fall on any of these hidden obstacles, concealed by a white curtain, put me in mental agony.

     I watched my older friends step up to the challenge, with seemingly no regret, and start their way down the prodigious mountain side. I knew that if I followed them, I would be faced with an extremely difficult challenge. The pine trees all around seemed to be waiting for my decision. I nearly threw up a lung as my stomach twisted in knots. I didn’t want to do it. But at the same time I felt that I should. The firm white snow underneath me told me to stay where I was, but my mind told me to follow my friends. I was nearly torn in two by the dilemma. But in the end, I decided that the best thing I could do was follow my friends. And with my heart in my throat, and my stomach in knots, I slowly began to make my way down the biggest confrontation of my life.

     My knees trembled as I began to pick up speed.  I gradually became more aware of my surroundings. My senses began to process everything happening around me. I could hear the scraping of my skis against a hidden rock in the snow. Suddenly, the front of my skis caught on something invisible to me. I fell forwards into the unforgiving snow. Since the “trail” was so steep, I kept on tumbling down through all the hidden perils. Eventually, I came to a stop on a slightly less steep spot on the “trail.” My limbs ached as if a tiger's jaws had locked onto each of them. My skis had come undone and were several feet above where I sat, battered and dazed.

     I mindlessly stood up and once again fell over. The steep trail, powdery snow, and my aching body made it nearly impossible for me to reach my skis. Eventually, I managed to reach my skis but was then faced by another challenge; I couldn’t put them back on. Through more struggle, I managed to pull myself to the edge of the trail where I could barely put my skis back on. I somehow managed to blindly attach them back to my boots and unsteadily rise to my feet. My face burned with embarrassment. I could feel the floodgates behind my eyes begin to open up, and I could sense the eyes of the people on the ski lift. An icicle of dread stabbed through my heart as I felt them all watching me, all following my every move, all seeming to laugh at my struggle.

     Chest heaving, I finally managed to resume my descent. Now that I knew what to look out for, I was more cautious and aware, careful not to embarrass myself a second time. And after several close calls and falling face first into a mound of powder, I managed to reach the ski lift. Underneath the ski lift was much the same, filled with rocks and stumps. But this time, I knew what I was up against. I knew how to handle it. And so I leaned forwards and practically flew down the rest of the trail.

     That newfound confidence I had acquired from my battle with the double black remained in my mind, making me feel invincible. The certainty that was in my head told me that nothing could bring me down. That I could face anything. Not that I would ever go on that trail again.

     That day taught me to take challenges in skiing and in everyday life. Sometimes, when you are presented with the choice of easy or hard, it is better to take the hard way because that way you try something new and out of your own comfort zone. Sometimes you don’t realize it, but from your struggles, something new comes to you. You often never realize it, but the thing that comes to you from your struggles can help you throughout your life. Sometimes, taking risks rewards you with something more than a memory.

-Daniel W