I dreamt about skiing last night.

Acres of resort and miles of lifts for mountains that stretched up higher than the clouds and went down down down, past where the eye could see into a misty abyss. There's a very special kind of alive you feel when you're doing something you're not quite sure to survive, but the doing of it is too good, too exciting, too irresistible simply because not all the variables are accounted for.

I was so afraid the first time going down a blue course I stood at the precipice for a good five minutes and watched most of my friends fall splat on their assess two seconds into the run. I lasted until almost the end of it - my only mistake was letting the fear of my speed overbalance me.

I didn't know if I would be fine when I went down my first black diamond. The course was insanely steep, and mostly ice due to warmer temperatures and use - made it down without incident.

Moral of the story seems to be, as Nike says, to just do it. The fact that it also seems to indicate that I need to think less and do more doesn't sit well with my rational mind and will therefore be filed away for another day.

For now, I write.