Imagine standing at the top of a hill. Excitement fills the air. A cacophony of sounds fill your ears. Fear fills your tummy: "What on earth have I done?" There you are standing at the top of a hill that suddenly seems a lot steeper than it initially looked (ok, Irish readers, it was twice the size of the hill in Griffith park. It's scarier than it sounds!) and sledding seems like a very bad idea.
This January, at the end of our week long English Camp (the theme was Around the World), we went to a nearby English Village. The highlight of this trip was sledding and I was super excited for it when my teacher told me about it. Although, I thought she said we were going "sleighing" and had an image of all of us in a sleigh with Santa going around the English Village much like how you see people go around Central Park in the movies (by the way, can any New Yorkers tell me if that does really happen?). I was a little shocked when I realised that it was actual sledding. However, I've been wanting to do a winter sport for ages and it just hasn't happened. So, after a cup of tea, and handing over my purse to my co-teacher, I headed up to join our students. I, luckily, bumped into one of them straight away and she took me under her wing. We got our sleds - they looked like inflatable rings that you use in the swimming pool but with a bottom that you sat on (when I sledded as a kid it was on a tray or plastic bag in the local park!) - and headed up a hill to join the other sledders. My students who spotted me were delighted that I was that brave to go up with them and the strangers who were there stared, pointed and chatted about me. Meanwhile, panic was starting to bubble up and I really wanted to turn around and run away: I was having images of breaking a leg or tumbling out of the sled and not being able to get on my plane home that evening.
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