I was the first person to arrive at the Winterplace Ski Resort that day, nestled in the beautiful snow topped mountains of West Virginia. ... Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. ... There was snow all around me. ... Snow began to fall heavily, blanketing the already blanketed snow. ... Ahead of me lay a carpet of virgin, in other words white snow totally untouched by other skiers. ... I edged my skis, which responded quite well, cutting into the snow and tracking across the mountain. ... Approaching the steepest part of the open trail speeding down the mountain, I noticed an imperfection in the snow. ... My face was so cold it felt like it was on fire. ... My arms and legs ached as they pounded into the snow. ... I stood up, painted with snow. The snow on my face melted, leaving drops of water trickling into my mouth.
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