Every time winter is near, they ask, “Where we will go this year for skiing?” Inside I shudder. The extreme is not for me. The thought of surfing paralyzes me and skiing even more.
But every year they refuse to go without me. So each winter I find myself again in the mountains; and in a rented ski outfit, shoes, skis and poles, I bravely present myself to the instructor. I cry out with fear as I start moving too fast, falling again and again in the snow, because I don’t know how to come to a stop. My entire body hurts and I am a crying, laughingstock of a figure.
Before the start of the latest season I said to myself: Enough! I decided that this year I would not get entangled in the crowds of skiers racing down the mountains. Instead I would learn cross-country skiing. I registered for the beginner’s course, but then everything seemed the same as before: the...
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