There I was at the top of one of the slopes of Peak-n-Peak, New York. I'm sure it wasn't the highest point on the range, but by far it was the highest starting point I'd ever tried.
 
Only 10 months earlier I was on the bunny slope at Brandy wine ski resort (Ohio). I had no business being on that hill.

The view was amazing. An expanse I'd never witnessed before. I had started out earlier in the day with minor grades. As my confidence built with each succession of not killing myself on the way down towards the lodge, the thought of going even higher started to take hold. Five times down this thing and I'm still breathing without any broken bones, yeppers it's time to advance.

Up the lift, again the view was probably the the most panoramic that I'd seen since the Grand Canyon (1977). Going up was slow enough that you could see a few of the other skiers swooshing their way down underneath us. A few fell, but most didn't. Graceful. Almost all made it look way too easy. If something looks too good to be true, it usually is.

Hop off the lift, down the slight slope, position the skies for an abrupt halt and then came my first mistake. I turned around and looked down, but there wasn't a down. This was the first hill I'd ever been on that I couldn't see the end, where I was suppose to stop. What the hell am I doing up here. I didn't care for the view at this point on. From up here beauty could mean death. I thought Alfred Hitchcock had something to do with the creation of such a double sided blade.

Once again gravity would come back to haunt me in this life. Where was Captain Friction when you needed him?

Captain Friction, for those of you not in the know, was my alter-ego, my invisible friend, my own personal super hero, while growing up in Streetsboro, Ohio in the 1970"s. He didn't monopolize the headlines or garner enough attention to inspire comic books, movies, action toys or lunchboxes,  but in many of the situations I found myself in as a child, he was as real to me as Superman.

7 years old. 1969. My brother Dennis (6 year old) and I were visiting my Sister Naomi and Brother-in-law Bill (at the time not a Sr.) at their home in Peninsula, Ohio. I think it was during fall and there was yet to be a snow that hung around for any great amount of time. We had coats on, probably due to the fact that we were kids and owing nothing to the outside climate.

One day we were free to roam around and as we were a tad too young to go for one of our (not too far in the future 30 mile) hikes, we settled for a hill that one of us had spotted. "Let's climb up it" Dennis said. I know this idea came from him since I was always the little perfect angel and such a dastardly thought couldn't possible have been hatched in my noggin. "OK" I said, always the follower, "Your plan, your fault if one of us dies" was my reasoning. In reality since I was older, it was ALWAYS my fault.

After the long trek up to the summit, we turn around and I remember we could see the entire village. "OK, we made it, let's climb down now". But Dennis had another thought. "Wanna race?"

This would be the time in the movie where you know the killer is in the house but the kid doesn't hear you screaming at the the screen "Don't go in there-the killers in there-you stupid kid"

"OK!"

"First one down to the bottom still breathing and without broken bones, wins"

"OK"

"On your mark, get set, one alligator, two alligator, and my mom says you are not it, two, three...GO"

Gravity took over from there. We ran a few feet and then our feet couldn't compensate for our speed.

"Captain Friction, where are you?" "Help!"

Tumble, tumble, tumble.

"Once again Captain Friction must have been busy elsewhere.

Tree, tree, tumble, tree, thorns, etc....CRASH!

I can't remember who won but I know we both lost. Tons of tear, pain, dirt everywhere.

"It was Dennis' idea"

"But your older"

"Damb" my first cuss word.

We would live to see another day, but this was when I planted the seed of doubt on the existence of Captain Friction.

Looking as far down as I could, I saw two different paths I could take. One in which ALL of the other skiers were maneuvering, being the wide slope. My bother-in-law Bob chose this path- which proved to be the right one. I on the other hand chose plan B, the skinny trail lined with trees and running along side the more used option. My train of thought here was that I'd reach a far greater speed on the wide open slope compared to a slightly less graded one.

"OK, I can do this"

"On your mark, get set, one alig..."

"This ain't too bad, actually it's kind of fun" Swish past a tree, duck under a branch. Yep this was for me. With my confidence building again I started to let gravity reel me in to its slippery seduction. Faster , faster, wohoo, this is fantastic.

Trees don't move. I think I missed that class in physics.

Everything was going great until I ducked to avert a branch and stood back up to see a tree facing me. You can find me routinely looking at trees. They're everywhere and are beautiful. Normally though I'm not looking at them while only an inch or so away and going 30 mph on a direct collision course.

"Damb" , not my second cuss word.

I hate trees. I felt like every bone in my body tore through the skin, leaving a pile of blubber at the trunk and a scattering of bones a few yards beyond. There I lay. I though I was dead. The pain made me know I was alive. Initially I couldn't move, then I lifted my head and looked at the tree I had met. Not a scratch. Humans bounce.

I was in too much pain to cry and after taking inventory of the situation all I could muster was a series of painful laughs. My skies had been ripped from my boots and were laying at the base of the tree, crisscrossed. For some reason it had reminded me of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons we use to watch. With each laugh my body died and at the same time, healed. No medical attention was needed even though I did walk down the rest of the mountain.

This was the last time I've ever skied, although I know I'll do it again one day, it just won't be today.

Captain Friction, where were you?

Months go by and I'm out at dinner with family prior to the first snowfall of the season and one of my brother-in-laws ask why I don't ski anymore and why I do so much running.

I reply, "I've never hit a tree running"