“Little girl, slow down!” a startled member of the ski patrol yelled after me as I sped past him and sailed down the hill.
“But it feels good!” I yelled back at him over my shoulder as I stuck to my course, according to my parents, who remember the incident.
I was 5 years old. From the time my dad first strapped my little boots on skis, when I was just 18 months old, skiing was my safe haven. Throughout my childhood, it was the thing I truly excelled at and could do effortlessly. It was like I told ski patrol that day — it just felt good.