A (bad) ski dream

Yesterday was another day for me of volunteering at the Eric Hayes junior ski races at the Park City Mountain Resorts, and as logic would have it, I had a dream about skiing that night. Some would call it a nightmare, but I'd prefer to call it just a dream because I still believe that “skiing” and “nightmare” are totally incompatible. So there I was, spring skiing in some unknown locale in the Rocky Mountain West and approaching a transition in the slope at a fairly high rate of speed, when suddenly I found myself at the edge of a cliff and had no other option but going with the flow.

I soon realized that I was flying some 2,000 feet over ground. Since the flight was played in slow motion, I tried to position my skis properly and all along was looking for a steep landing spot that would somehow soften the blow, but the terrain was turning around, going the wrong way on purpose, it seemed, and I couldn't do much about it. When I finally hit the ground, the screen went blank, in total silence, and a few moments later I woke up. I was alive alright, but I had failed to witness the glowing tunnel that people claim they see in near-death experience situations. This is perhaps because I'm a heathen or there isn't such at thing after all...