Sledding on Hospital Hill

A Piece About Sledding on Hospital Hill as a Child:

The playground neared all too quickly as I coursed through the snow at hyperspeed. My body became as frozen as the ice accelerating the sled that I squatted on. I had no opportunity to plan or even think of hopping from my sled and diving into the plush protection of the snow. As the bars of the playground that jutted from the earth, threatened to bring me to an abrupt halt, my body at last reacted. My arms let go of the handles and rose to protect my body and I leaned to the side, causing the board to slip out from beneath me and fly in one direction as I flew the other way. I was pelted by the snow under me as I tumbled forward, one of my legs colliding with the navy blue bar. The immense pain was enough to make me feel ill, and worse yet, I could hear the laughter of the kids around me. Embarrassment clouded my cheeks with a red pigment, further dissolving my white skin tone. The cold air had already pinked my nose and my cheeks, so I made pretend that I was fine and glared toward the top of Hospital Hill.

The bruise that would eventually blossom on my thigh was the lesser pain. My pride had been damaged and that was the most horrifying discomfort of all. Life came with an assortment of hits and bruises, but the big question was if failure was enough to keep you down. At the time, it was a whim of pride that urged me to my feet, fighting down the beating I had taken in order to prove myself a bigger person than pain.

I was an eight year old pulled down by the colossal weight of my purple snow pants and my black winter coat. My blue hat hid most of my blonde head and my black gloves did little to keep my hands from becoming damp and cold. I was aware of the snow that had gotten tucked into my boots and the way the chill stung my ankles. In the end, I didn’t allow the discomfort to keep me down and I marched to my sled and began my ambitious trudge up the steepest hill of our little town.

In that time, the hospital was not yet abandoned and still operated to keep the living alive. It was a blessing for me because as I stubbornly climbed the hill, I feared for my life. The green board in my hand flopped easily in the wind, making balance difficult to obtain. To add to my struggle, the majority of the hill was hardened by pure sheets of ice. As often as I clammered upward, I slid back down, functioning carefully so I could bury my boot in the right place as other kids did around me. Eventually, I got the hang of the climb and bound up the steep angle of the slope until I could grab onto the steel railing that cut off the hospital’s driveway for the ambulance from the hill.

I looked up to see my sister, Kayla, preparing herself to drop from the ledge into a near ninety degree drop. Even in her puffy black snow pants and her overbearing white winter coat, she dazzled me with her bravery. In one moment she was frozen in place, a perfect icon of courage, and in the next, she was tilting downward in slow motion. Then in a single millisecond, Kayla was halfway down the hill. I was left gawking, a line of kids protesting behind me who didn’t dare to try and move around, less they fall. I swallowed back my fear and edged toward the center of worn down snow.

Around me, a kid or two helped to balance my board as I sat down. I knew that my mom had bought us one of the fastest boards in Wal-Mart. The bottom was slick and on snow, it moved like a bullet. When we had first gotten it, I had been thrilled. However, as I sat on top of Hospital Hill, I cursed it.

I knew I couldn’t wait because others were impatiently waiting their turn. Although I had already bared the extremity once, I had chosen to clammer back up and do it again. What I feared most was making a fool of myself the second time.

Without another minute to spare, I nodded to be released. As my board edged forward, my body leaned back in response. My pipes burst with a scream as I soared down the ice sculpted hill.

This time around, I made sure to lean earlier and more gently. The board used the pressure to glide slowly off to the side of my applied weight and away from the playground. Other kids around me had to dive off of their boards or mistakenly flipped over when they leaned too greatly to one side. I was pink with excitement as my board decelerated and came to an eventual halt near the sidewalk by the road. In triumph, I jumped up from my board and pumped a fist into the air.