Make it down the run. That was the goal. I tried remembering all the steps. Put your weight toward the downward ski. Keep your torso facing forward. Turn your feet in the direction you want to go. Finish the turn. Sounds easy right? I zoomed and crashed down each slope, having no control of my own body. I was intimidated, self-conscious, and felt defeated after I dealt a harsh blow to another skier. 

I watched my friends make their way down the course, feeling guilty that I may have held them back from exploring more of the mountain. They were experts, whizzing side to side through the snow, making graceful turns look so effortless. Whenever I tumbled, they stopped and waited for me. “You’ve got this,” they encouraged me. Each fall pounded harder on my wrists. My quads wanted to give up and felt like jello within the first hour. I wanted an excuse out. Like how there were too many people. Or how the icy patches made it too dangerous. 

That day I never found my groove on the mountain. The crowd, the cold, the unfamiliarity with the curves were too much of a challenge to make one smooth run, even on the bunny slope. But who’s to say that day wasn’t successful? I fell dozens of times and each time I got myself back up to try again. I learned not to forget to celebrate the smallest achievements, no matter how numb my toes and fingers may feel. The following year, I skied seven more times back home. I even skied my first black diamond slope and bought my very own pair of skis! Until we meet again, Japan.