“Whoa, Ijeoma, are you okay?”
As I lay face first in the snow I wondered how all this began:
“Hey, Ijeoma, it’s Grace. Do you want to go sledding tomorrow?”
Sledding, I thought, excitement! I’ve never been sledding before in my life.  In fact, I have been sheltered for the majority of my life, not just from the dangerous things like strangers, but fun things like sleepovers and the running after the ice cream truck.  Among those fun things I have been deprived of is the joyous sport of sledding.  Being from a warm-blooded family, my parents have always been wary of the frozen wonder we call snow, so having the chance to sled was one I could not miss out on again.
Like a dog finding its bone, I enthusiastically agreed to meet later the next day.
As soon as I set down the phone, I ran upstairs to pick out an outfit that would look stylish but accommodating for a cool winter day.
The hours came and went as I anticipated gliding down the thick layers of snow of the legendary Art Hill on one of those old-timey sleds of yore.  Finally, “tomorrow” came, and I hopped into my sledding outfit. I waited by the door for my friends to come.
As I hopped into my friend’s car, I found that our old-timey sleds were now trashcan lids.  A minor setback, I thought, but no matter; the snow will be crazy thick on Art Hill!
By the time our band of sledders arrived, patches of grass were jutting out of the snow, slowly taking over the area of Art Hill. But I still remained hopeful. Sure, the snow is disappearing, I chimed to myself, but the memories I make here will be unforgettable!
We trekked across the top of the hill, searching for a good spot to build camp.
Though I chose an outfit that celebrated the fashions of the winter season, I failed to consider if it would keep me warm. The wind’s ominous howling froze my spirit as the freezing air ate voraciously at my body heat. The snow gently fell to me slowly succumbing to minor hypothermia,
Nevertheless, I had to survive, for I had a destiny to fulfill. I had to get down that hill. One by one, the members of my sledding troupe took the hill by storm but as my turn grew nearer, I grew more nervous. What to say, what to do while going down this beast of a hill?
It was finally my turn.  Like a Homeric protagonist staring death in the face, so I regarded the great Art Hill. I clambered into the tiny sled, slowly creeping over the edge of the hill. As the sled tipped to meet the incline, my mouth grew wide as time slowed down to catch my scream.
Time passed…
“Whoa, Ijeoma, are you okay?”
After reflecting on the events leading  up to now, I rolled over to find the sky the clearest of blues. Besides the wind, all was quiet as I lifted my head to find the sled a couple of feet away from me and my glasses askew on my face.
According to my fellow sledders, I was on the hill for approximately seven seconds, screaming like a banshee, before flipping over a bump and landing flat on my face. After my near-death experience, we huddled around the communal fire and celebrated my coming back in one piece over burritos and brownies.
My first time sledding and I crashed and burned, literally. I admit, it wasn’t the best weekend ever; it wasn’t even close, but for the first time in a long time, I never felt so scared, so exhilarated, so alive.  That day was certainly a Kodak moment, but next time, I think I observe the beauty from the crest of the hill.