While I was running towards the top of the hill, tiny clouds came out of my mouth, getting bigger and bigger with every breath I exhaled. The air was icy but only managed to turn the colour of my cheek red, since the rest of my body was covered in dozens of layers of clothes as prescribed by my parents. My feet were already getting cold, but not wet, which meant I must’ve done something right because that’s the most important body part to keep dry, they told me. Even before I stepped outside and started my journey, I was already aware that there might come a point where my hands freeze so much that they start hurting, perhaps they’d even grow entirely numb. But to me, that was nothing but a worthy sacrifice to create the best possible and hopefully winning snowball. A perfectly shaped and compressed ball of ice and snow that all the other kids weren’t even able to get close to building themselves unless they took off their gloves too and followed the same strategy. It would have a surface so perfectly round and big, that my targets would be unmissable. But here I digress - I had to focus on the much bigger goal ahead of me. So I dragged my sled behind me while I was waltzing through the snow, getting closer to the summit each step at a time.
I didn’t realise I was panting until my friends and I started to discuss where the best possible spot for our sled ride would be. We were looking down from where we were standing, and spotted too many obstacles in the way of a smooth ride such as tree branches and big stones. Sometimes we just found the spot too crowded with other people we might accidentally bump into, especially if our sleds were faster than theirs. We needed to find a place that was clean and free of possible hindrances to a perfect ride. After some heated but civil discussion and a couple of left and right turns, we settled on moving as close as possible to where the trees cut the snow. That meant that no one would be riding on their sleds to our left, as the trees would obviously be in their way. But there was no one close to us on our right either, as everyone else was starting from the middle with a lot of snowy ground to both of their sides, enabling them to zickzack or maybe even create half rounded shapes on their way down. That was it, our ride in winter wonderland could finally begin.
Euphoria streamed through my body each time I observed everyone’s ride down the hill, knowing that it would be my turn as soon as they were far enough ahead of me. I was riding on mine alone this time, as my friend wanted to try the new plastic snow sled that he got recently. It was shaped like a really tiny dirt bike, covered in blue and red with fire flames on each side. It almost looked like it was actually melting the snow as it left its sled ride marks behind it. Mine was rather traditional: a wooden, Bavarian style snow sled that my grandfather could’ve convinced me that he built himself if he wanted to. There was a string attached in the front which I held onto when I had a second passenger, but most of the time I preferred to grip the sides or the front of the sled instead. When it was finally my turn, I imagined the route I was going to take in my head as I sat down on the sled with my feet still on the ground. As soon as I was ready to ride, I put my feet on each side, gave myself a little bump by pushing the sled forward with my hips, and rode down.
I only saw what was ahead of me through squinted eyes, as it had started to snow again and the speed of my ride forced me to stay focused. The wind was brushing against my whole body and it felt as if I was cutting the air. I left a cold, clear line behind me, only visible through the imaginations of my mind. On my way down, I didn’t pay attention to anyone else around me, because all that mattered now was the speed of my sled ride, the precision of my foot placement so I wouldn’t cut my journey and speed in half, and the pure feeling of joy that almost made me dizzy each time. If I didn’t lean back while holding onto the sled, and started moving rapidly to the sides instead, I would’ve jeopardised my perfectly smooth and fast ride. All our decision making and thinking that went into finding the perfect spot for the perfect ride would’ve been for naught. Most importantly, I didn’t want it to stop too soon. The goal was to get as far as possible. Sometimes we’d even compete in that category. The furthest you could go, the better your sledding skills were, and obviously, the most fun you had! Because it was a long way up to the top of the hill again, and the ride only lasted for a couple of seconds. Luckily, if things did go wrong and you didn’t have the ride you were looking forward to, you could always run up the hill and try again.
Now, you must admit that our work reward ratio was a little disproportionate in our activity. Depending on how tall the hill was, it would take us at least a couple of minutes to get up again, especially when the snow was deep and our feet and legs were only so small. Sometimes it was hard work to pull the sled behind us, while we were fighting against the snow, but that never stopped us from doing it all over again. As kids, we didn’t think twice when deciding that a couple of seconds of joy would be worth the long walk up. But then again, maybe we didn’t think about it at all. Maybe all that we saw as part of the activity of sledding was the journey down, and having to walk up again was merely a side effect. With full contentment we would take the string attached to our sled in one hand and pull it behind us, being too busy to think about all the fun we’ll have when we’re on top again to even notice the difficulties of the way up. In hindsight it looks like the ultimate Sisyphean task, a repetitive activity in which we are fully content every single second of it, no matter what way we were going. And we wouldn’t just do this a couple of times - it would go on for hours and hours until it got dark or there was time for tea or perhaps our parents told us it was time to go home. It’s incredible how we managed to lose ourselves in one activity for a long period of time, and now all I wonder about is when we lost that enthusiasm in our later years in life. Where did that innocent joy of riding down a hill go, as well as the unquestionable acceptance of having to work for longer than the reward lasted?
I started thinking about this as we got closer to the end of December. The roads are icy now and Christmas is near. I look out the window and see all the glistening rooftops and fairy lights that decorate the streets. Why I thought about this particularly part of my childhood at this random moment, I don’t know. But I hope there’ll be snow.
