Ski Slope, Morning, Tree

The superski slope was a straight and steep downhill course, unlike the usual pulsing-wave shape of most courses. Each season had been more intense than the last, but it was more than just a step up for the 2032 season. The final tournament run would the pinnacle of achievement. Mark was preparing for his turn as the first athlete to ride the new Cliffdrop course. Controlling the skis would be next to impossible, given the initial vertical drop of about 30 feet. The course flattened slightly and curved leftward at the base, eventually leading to one more drop covered by trees. Mark did not think anyone would be able to complete it, but it had to be done. There was no other option, he prepared for hours upon hours, minutes ticking past as though counting down until the world would finally decide to notice him. The Cliffdrop was the end of that countdown, the time when everyone, the sports enthusiasts and regular citizens of the world, would decide if he was worth accolades. Turning back would be to acknowledge that he was worth nothing. He couldn’t bear to accept that fact. The slope had a lethal amount of trees; Mark believed there had to be a limit of what one is willing to accept, and this was it. He decided to turn around, regardless of any label of coward. Regardless of what anyone thought it may mean to back down from the challenge ahead of him, he did not want to be the first death of the superski league.