As I strap in, I deeply inhale the icy air into my lungs and exhale sharply. Breathing in the crisp air deeply at this height feels exactly like when you eat a mint and then drink some really cold water right after; it clears out every part of your body and seems as if you’re inhaling frost.

Have Your Voice Heard: Become an Odyssey Creator

The wind is sharp too — the ice and snow feel like grains of sand pelting my face on a windy day at the beach. I waddle like a penguin across the ice as I prepare myself for the ride. A strong gust of wind propels me as I glide through the snow, kicking up clouds of dry powder which briefly levitate in the air. I look back quickly — the crystals of the snow in the clouds glitter like diamonds as they catch the sun’s rays. I take a left and traverse through into the shadows of the trees. Blankets of snow greet me as they slow me down. I stop to listen and catch my breath. Suddenly, I hear nothing. No wind rushing into my ears, no cracking of branches, no kids screaming; the silence is bigger than the mountain.

As I leave, the wind bites at the trees and the snow falls almost silently. I weave in and out of the snow, turning my body and hips to etch defined strokes on the soft white canvas of the mountain. I notice a large jump in the distance, I bend my knees and pick up speed, exploding as I reach the top. I grab the side of my board and feel my stomach drop quickly, like when you’re on top of a rollercoaster, when I land on the ground and hear the icy snow crack beneath me. As I reach the bottom and sit on the stiff metal chair, I know that the next run will always be different, but I will notice something unique and intrinsically breathtaking about it. The writer has his pen and paper, the artist has his brush and canvas, and the snowboarder has his board and the mountain.