So, I'm watching the 2010 Winter Olympics from the snugly warmth of my own couch. Julia Mancuso is hurtling down the slalom course in the fog. I ski, too, but nothing like her. Not even close. Yet I sort of know how she feels. I've skied down in the fog, barely able to see the lay of the terrain in front of me and expecting, any minute, to go careening down, head over heels, scattering my equipment in all directions. Maybe even breaking a limb or suffering a concussion. I had a concussion once from skiing (negotiating the moguls).
Most of them time, however, I don't, because I'm far too cautious. And slightly scared. When I write, however, I sort of feel like Julia or Lindsay or any one of those skiers. I'm hurtling downhill in the fog, down, down, down with the wind in my face, wondering what bumps or ruts I'm going to hit and if I will hold in there till the end. Will I fling up my arms and call it quits or keep going till I make it down to the bottom, down to the end of the trail?
Writing is a lot like flying down a ski slope, unable to see beyond the next curve in the trail. But man, what a trip!
