So we stood there, and each of us took our turn descending down the steep terrain. As if our navigational gyroscopes were broken, we aimed for cliffs and rocks and tested our non-existent wings to see if they could carry us far enough to earn enough points to qualify for the main event. As I stood next to the other intrepid ski athletes from all parts of the country, I faced my own demons. Insecurity and doubt stared me down. Fear of falling, injury, and, worst of all, embarrassment swarmed around my head as I waited for the announcer to call my name. He did. My legs shook. I stood on the cornice. It was time to compete in my first ever ski competition. Athlete dropping in three....two.....one, and I was off in the air past the cornice. My mind was blank. "Holy sh$t, holy sh$t" is the only phrase I can remember passing through my brain as I descended the first section of the run. All of a sudden I realized I was not on my line and had passed the first cliff I was aiming for! I found the next one below it, but I was purposely avoiding it because I knew it had a skinny, unwieldy take off. As I approached, I got turned around in the heavy, days-old snow and hung facing backwards down the slope for a second. That second lasted an hour, and the shame I felt in missing the cliff's takeoff lasted an eternity. In that moment, I realized any attempt at making it to the next round of the competition was gone. My descent was not fluid enough and I had missed too many features. Only one thing left to do. Continue to the bottom part of my line and drop the one descent size cliff I had lined up. At least I'll give the crowd something to enjoy, and at least I'll feel like I left my mark on this comp. I sped across the face, scooted awkwardly into the chute leading to the drop, and eyed-up the line. Here goes nothing. In one move I traversed the nose and aimed at the cliff, a terminal line in the snow that led to the unknown. I had been eyeing this section of cliffs the day before, and I realized that I was skiing towards the section that led to another smaller cliff below. It was time to double up. My skis left the snow. Ten feet later when they landed on the take off of the bottom cliff, I left my skis. A front flip later and I was sitting in the snow, my skis five feet behind me. A sizable crowd of spectators sat a hundred yards away looking on in silence. I raised my hands in victory. The crowd gave a little cheer. I had completed my first ski competition, and though I may not have aced my line, I feel like I made an entrance and certainly had an exciting time doing it.