“Let the sledding begin!” Jackie announced. The hill awaited us and our sleds were ready. A group of six adventurers headed into the snowy night. As we ascended the hill, we quickly warmed up our core temperature.
On the summit, we selected our sled and chose our riders. There was no fear only the anticipation of fun and laughter. The descent did not disappoint us. Immediate belly laughs, brought on my crazy steering, echoed in the night. Another ascent to invite more laughter and hopefully learn to steer more adeptly.
A duo made the decision to go for the gold and pass the distance mark of the previous run. With a heave and a ho, the two began the golden run. An unsuspecting bump, shadowed by the darkness, sent the duo off the stead and rolling onto the snow, derailing their hopes for glory. Yet, the laughter that ensued made the failed venture worth every second.
As my friend and I watched from atop the hill, I offered to push her for the solo golden run, skeleton style. My muscles were pumped and ready to give her the top speed needed. With the final kick, to my friend’s surprise, I jumped on her back and we began the descent together – more weight, more distance, more fun.
The night was growing old and our last run had approached. A sled of three began their descent. Faster and faster, farther and farther down the hill. No veers to the left or to the right. Straight on, full steam ahead. No doubt, an olympic run that brought hoots and hollers from the trio. Once again, the hill satisfied the need for a winter thrill, the connection to childhood and the affirmation of living.