Last winter I got my jacket caught on the ski lift. I didn’t realize it until I tried to get off the lift at the top of the mountain, and was dragged—face down—for what seemed like forever, but turned out to be less than thirty seconds. The lift operator saw what was happening, and shut the lift off before I was dragged down the mountain. This time, I survived with everything but my ego intact.
I still can't keep up with my husband, and the ski lift and I have not yet resolved our problematic relationship. But I love snowboarding.
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