Winter is beautiful. Snow falls gently from the sky, mountains turn white, and everything looks like a scene from a romantic movie. At least, that is what people think when they have never tried snow riding. For a professional snow rider, winter is an exciting adventure. For a beginner like me, however, it can sometimes feel like a competition between human beings and gravity—and gravity usually wins.

The first time I saw people snow riding, I was impressed. They looked incredibly cool. They wore stylish jackets, helmets, and goggles, then glided down the mountain as if they had been born on skis. They turned left and right smoothly, jumped over small bumps, and stopped perfectly. I thought, “How difficult could it possibly be?” Famous last words.

Before going onto the snow, I had to put on all the necessary snow rider equipment. There were boots, skis, gloves, a helmet, goggles, and several layers of clothing. By the time I finished getting dressed, I looked less like an athlete and more like a human-sized marshmallow. Walking in the boots was already difficult. I took three steps and nearly fell over. My confidence, which had been extremely high five minutes earlier, suddenly disappeared.

Then came the most important lesson: how to stand on skis.

It sounds simple, but it is not. The instructor told us to keep our knees slightly bent and maintain our balance. I nodded confidently, pretending that I understood everything. In reality, my legs were shaking like jelly. The moment I put both skis on the snow, they seemed to have their own plans. One ski wanted to go left, while the other apparently wanted to move to another country.

After several embarrassing attempts, I finally managed to move forward. Unfortunately, I could not stop.

This was a small problem.

A very small problem.

A problem that became much bigger when I realized that the mountain was going downhill.

I remembered the instructor saying, “If you want to slow down, make a snowplough shape with your skis.” I tried to remember what that meant. My brain provided no useful information. Instead, it simply shouted, “PANIC!”

So I did what every experienced snow rider would do: I screamed.

I tried to turn left. I went right. I tried to turn right. I went left. I tried to slow down. I became faster. At this point, I was no longer snow riding. I was participating in an uncontrolled experiment involving gravity, snow, and poor decision-making.

Eventually, I fell.

And surprisingly, it was not as painful as I expected. The snow was soft, and I landed on my back. For a few seconds, I simply lay there looking at the sky. A cloud slowly passed overhead. Everything was peaceful again.