Hopping out of the warm shower quickly, I race towards where my towel is hanging, I hate that feeling when you are so warm in the shower and as soon as you turn the water of its like your standing in an esky. I’ve always resented that about showering. I snatch my undies and slide them up my legs, followed by my thermal leggings, thick socks and electric blue waterproof track pants. Followed by my rainbow coloured bra, thermal tank top, t-shirt, and pitch black doona jacket. I lean towards the mirror and start to apply my black eyeliner, ivory foundation and a touch of red lipstick. Grabbing an orange hair band, I gently pull my long blue-black, waist length hair up into a high pony tail, then brush my side fringe and im ready to go.
Chelsea greets me outside the bathroom door, and is dressed in fluoro green trackies, and a pink hoodie. It is now, 10:30 am and we meet our teacher and the rest of our class outside the lodge, as Chelsea and I are walking back past our room door, that same guy from earlier is still standing their watching me, and its more than an hour later! Acting calm I keep walking like nothings up, but the curiosity of why he is still there is getting the better of me.
Opening the front doors of the resort, we walk out and meet our sport teacher, Mr Pridgeon, he is an almost bald man in his early 50’s with, and would you believe it? Khaki grey knee length shorts, in the snow!! A navy blue, polar fleece jumper and runners that look like he dug them up from ancient Rome. He looks at me sternly while im looking at him up and down, evaluating his choice of clothing in freezing cold snow.
Chelsea, me and the rest of the group from my high school, trudge out into the windy, blithering snow, our feet sinking abit deeper in the ground with every step we take. we all walk for roughly ten or so minutes, which feels like an eternity in this snowy weather, before stopping in front of a long, wondrous chairlift. Mr Pridgeon turns and looks at the group before starting to talk. He tells us to stand in front of the seats, two at a time, until they come around and sweep us of our feet. The whole idea of a machine sweeping me of my feet brings a sense of nervousness to me and I get fluttering butterflies in my stomach. Chelsea and I line up, and stand in this area of worn snow, I could vaguely see mud under it.
Before it’s too late, Chelsea squeals to me “it’s coming!!!”
I reply “what?” but before I can turn to see what she is excited about, I feel a sharp pain, like a hammer against cloth, as the chairlift punches me in the back of the knee and urges me to sit down on the hard, cold, metal seat. We slowly rise up in the air, high and higher until we reach a chosen height. The view was amazing, it’s like we were almost about to touch the clouds. Although it was freezing and breath was coming out our mouths, it was worth it, to see all the little fluoro dots skiing around on the ground, it was perfect for a few moments. Until the chair lift started to lower again, Chelsea and I quickly jump of and run to the side so we don’t get hit again while it keeps moving.
Chelsea, me and the rest of the group stand on a clear patch of snow where Mr Pridgeon gives us a basic guide on how to ski, and what not to do if you don’t want to get maimed. I give him a dumb look but what he remains to talk about is fascist in its own right.
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