Cheating Icy Death

So I woke up at around 6:45 this morning after a lovely three hours sleep. Restless, I arose and decided to go about my day a few hours earlier than normal. I've been rummaging through assorted boxes I brought back from college, and I stumbled upon something my friends may find amusing. I was required to write a life experience in 2nd person narrative for Feature Writing. Here's what I turned in:

Inside your friend's SUV, your ears begin to pop as the elevation climbs higher and higher. You're on spring break, destination: Durango, CO. You've been looking forward to this for quite some time, a chance to finally escape the confines of classrooms and the various dramtics of your college life, which at times--much to your chagrin--strongly resembles an episode of Dawson's Creek.

The prospect of seeing mountains and experiencing the outdoors excites you even more than the fact that, for a week, you have absolutely no agenda. No concerns at all, except for that paper on Huckleberry Finn that'll be due within a week of your return. That can wait; it is time to frolic in the woods, imbibe the pine, and be free. Above all, it's time to do something both indisputably manly and profoundly stupid.

You encourage several of your friends to climb the mountain behind the resort. Some reluctantly agree at last and fill their backpacks with bottled water and walkie talkies. When the testosterone flows becomes palpable, your entourage sets foot to the trail in the middle of the afternoon. You don't really consider the amount of time it'll take to reach the top and return before the darkness sets, nor are you particularly concerned with your attire--a pair of Chuck Taylor's, ankle length socks, a pair of jeans, and a hoodie.

Undaunted, you plod through the snow (which is at least two feet deep) to the base of the mountain. Some of your number wise up--or chicken out (man rhetoric)--and drop out. They endure the jeers from the remaining three Neanderthals as they return safely to the resort. Proud Chief of the Neanderthals, you lead the way forth. You tell yourself you have a point to prove, but to whom you know not.

As the incline becomes increasingly steep, the ice cuts into your pathetic shoes and you begin to feel sharp pain in your feet and ankles. The situation does not improve. You switch with David and Lee as the designated leader, whose job is to plod a path of footprints so the followers don't have to sink into snow with each step. The destination seems to near, but you are more concerned with your feet and the setting sun--it'll undoubtedly be dark shortly after you reach the top. You brave the pain. "It has become a matter of pride," you tell yourself.

At last you reach what appears the closest thing to the clearing. Behold, you are on top of the world's shortest mountain. It's difficult to enjoy the moment, you know that you have to get to the bottom of the mountain very soon. After a few primal screams of triumph, you encourage the others that it's time to get down and get warm. It's the best idea you've had all day.

The descent proves much more perilous and painful than you could have imagined. The temperature drops dramatically and darkness sets in about 20 minutes into your descent. You can't safely walk down, so you're forced to sit, rendering your buttocks a most painful sliding apparatus. You start to worry about frostbite. You've seen those poor souls on the Discovery channel with blackened fingers.

The experience hits rock bottom when you see David lose his footing, fall, and barrel roll down the mountain. His forward motion is violently stopped by a tree...which he meets head first. You panic. What else can you do? You start yelling his name repeatedly. He doesn't answer. You immediately assume the worst.

Suddenly, he speaks. He's okay. It's time to get off this mountain. You contact the "pansies" sitting comfortably back in the resort via walkie talkie and relate the situation to them. Though you think it futile, the guys decide to come out in the car and attempt to find you. You no longer have any feeling below your shins...or in your buttocks.

At last, just before you profanely curse your existence and look for an icy tomb into which you can crawl, you catch sight of the most glorious vision yet to bless your eyes--the bottom of the mountain, the road, and your rescue team waiting in the SUV. Your icy hell has subsided. The friends graciously escort you back to the resort's pool area, which is thankfully equipped with a sauna. You literally thaw out and bless the heavens when you realize you aren't going to lose any appendages.

You wake up the next morning wondering if what had happened the previous night was merely a figment of your imagination. You decide it was real and scoff at Death's icy grasp which you so daringly escaped. Then you realize you almost died. The room seems suddenly much colder.

You shrug your shoulders and decide upon a warm spring break destination for next year.