Last year was a bit of a write off as far as fluffy fun snow was concerned.
This year though, we have had a nice dose of snow in the past few days and both kids were keen to get started on using their new sleds. By the time we got outside though, it was raining. Cold icy rain was running in rivulets down the street. The wind tunnel between the tall buildings was fierce. It did not deter us. I pretended that it was all part of the plan even though there was dread deep in my stomach. The kids ran up the little hill and made a few short descents. They were not particularly good tracks. After a few minutes, I swallowed hard, and despite my fear, suggested that we try the much faster "big" hill. Both kids, without hesitation, picked up and ran unfettered over to the hill. We struggled to the top, despite the wet ice, we made it quickly up. Both kids immediately turned around and flew down to the bottom. They continued to run up and slide down several more times. Finally, my legs started to get soaked through (I had not yet found my snow pants). I let them know there was time for one more run. One kid got to the bottom before the other. Looking down the steep drop I had a hard time imagining doing it myself but I was so happy that they were not held back by fear.
I realized suddenly that now I would have to get to the bottom somehow. The hill was by now slick with freezing ice. I did not want to fall. The drop was steep. There was really no way around getting down without going straight down. I started to sidle my way down, but the angle of the hill and gravity and momentum and freezing rain all compounded and forced their hands. I ended up having to run down a hill (and all the others like it) that I had avoided up until now and I started to run. I thought I was going to fall. I caught myself. I kept on running. I yelled. I kept running. The chance of falling and wiping out and getting soaked and being injured all presented themselves in my mind, but I kept on running. And, you know what? I did not fall.