I sat down on top the slope by the side of the snow trail. My breath was uneven as my lungs demanded air from the thin atmosphere. The gloves around my hands failed to keep my fingers warm, they’ve been soaked and I felt them slowly becoming frozen. The locks that connected me to my flower printed snowboard dug into my ankles. My frail, fourteen-year-old body had never felt this much misery. All of my muscles wanted to scream. Heck, I wanted to scream.

With a folded map, Austin tried to navigate the easiest route down the thousand foot mountain. Colorado was known for its plush snow and towering hills, but none of us islanders ever snowboarded before. Austin attempted to decipher his color-coded map with strange shapes and lines but seemed to keep failing. His boots crunched with each pacing step he took. He glanced at a bundle of frosted pine trees to his left, then looked back at his map, puzzled.

The ski lift towered above me, creaking with each rusted turn. Locals and experienced riders sat with boards in laps and their legs dangled down. Some were isolated by themselves and others sat with their families of five. They chatted amongst themselves, laughing with toothy grins. I saw the ski lodge at the bottom of the slope, it looked like a tiny dot. But it was our destination. Austin was trying to figure out where we could “snowboard” without going straight down. This so-called “plush of snow” felt like cement every time I would hit it. I wasn’t planning to ride smoothly.

Angela slumped down next to me, her face carried a miserable expression. Her eyes were droopy and she gave the sharpest glare towards the innocent snow. The coat with fur linings she wore was covered with clumps of snow. Her hair was damp like my own, and her cheeks were rosy red.

I shifted around uncomfortably. I felt like an overstuffed marshmallow in my thick, dirt-brown coat and velvet black pants. I wouldn’t say it was the latest snowsuit fashion. I lifted my long black scarf to my face to keep the air from damaging my dry, crusty skin. My lips were dangerously chapped and begged for a slab of vaseline. In the corner of my eye, I noticed Angela taking off her neon snowboard, it stood out vibrantly in the frosted snow. I heard the clicks of her unlockings, followed by the heavy sigh she gave out.

I wiggled my icy toes inside my bulky boots. The lockings around my ankles became tighter and tighter with each movement. I was over it, so I bent down and started un-doing my latches as well. With each satisfying click, little by little my ankles could breathe again. A wave of relief came over me when I unlocked the last latch. I gave a victory exhale and chucked my snowboard to the side with my last remaining strength.

I groaned as I massaged my beaten ankles. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I kept thinking. Things can’t possibly get any-.

I glanced to my right and my board slid down the slope slowly. Angela, Austin and I watched my board descend down the hill, none of us moved or said a word. I did nothing, I sat there in utter shock. A part of me hoped that it’ll stop on its own or someone would catch it, but it kept picking up speed.

Angela broke the silence. “What are you doing? Run, Nakia!”

That triggered my body and I bolted after my board. My muscles roared in pain with the sudden movement, one minute they were resting, the next they’re running a marathon. The coat and bulky boots were weighing me down as I kept pushing. The slope became steeper and the board flew faster. My lungs were burning as they desperately tried to grab a hold of the thin air. The board dipped down and disappeared from my sight, panic flooded through me till I saw it reappear again, it was passing by a young couple on skis. With each person it passed, I desperately hoped and mentally begged someone to stop it for me, but no one did. Every single person on the slope glanced at the board and stared at the girl sprinting for it.

“Run kid, run!” a voice said. I looked up to the ski lift and saw grown men laughing at me. I then realized people from the sky watched and giggled. Some pointed towards the board and then traced a line to me, their toothy grins from before turned into mocking laughs. But, at least there were people with sympathy, they held sorrowful faces and pity in their eyes. Except, they couldn’t help me even if they wanted to.

“Shut up,” I whimpered to myself. I could feel warm tears forming on my eyelids. The cold air blew them away.  My vision was failing me, black blurs started to overcome my sight. But then, my board had mercifully and finally stopped in the snow. I pushed my weakened body once more and grabbed ahold of the runaway board. I held it with a tightening death grip as I lugged it to the side of the slope. Once I dragged it away from the path, I stabbed my board towards the ground until I was certain it wouldn’t budge. Finally, my body gave out and I fell into the snow like a rag doll.

The scent of crisp pine trees filled my dying lungs and the continuing sound of the ski lift echoed through my head. My vision hazed in and out, I clung onto my sight like I clung onto my board. I refused to let myself blackout. I willed my body to sit up, it ached once again. I looked down and realized that after all that running, I wasn’t even halfway down the slope. The ski lodge was still a tiny dot in my blurred vision. I glanced up to where my friends were, a little part of me hoped they were still there. But I only saw the towering slope I learned to hate.

My options were scarcely limited, either trudge up the hill or walk the thousand foot descent. Each choice required more physical movement. I was certain I’d pass out if I made one slight movement. Though my body was hot and rigid in my thick snow coat, I could still feel the cool kiss of the mountain’s wind. It was as if it whispered “Sorry” in my ear. Tepid tears slid down my dry face as I cried quietly to the trees. The same sentence raced through my mind.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this….