My worst snowboard day

That Sunday I woke up around six am, so that I could have enough time to get prepared and get out of home around half-past seven. I was going to go snowboarding with my brother, who is a skier by the way, up to the nearest mountain to our home town – Vitosha. It certainly not the best choice that could’ve been made, but it was still something. Anyway, after I got up, I went to my brother’s room to wake him up. I knew that would be a hard job, but it was necessary one to do. After losing more than ten long and excruciating minutes of shaking and talking, playing to music and simply making a lot of noise, my brother finally woke up and went to wash his teeth. Then he went immediately back in his bed, which meant another ten minutes hard work. Around seven we were finally having a breakfast: nothing special, just a few slices of bread with chocolate over them. It might’ve not been a five-star breakfast, but it had everything that the body would need in such a moment – chocolate to give strength and power, and bread to fill the stomach with something. Then we had the usual argument whether or not we should take the car. My brother hated giving money for parking, I hated giving money for taxi or carrying my snowboard in the public transport. However, he had a driving license, he was older, and his was the final word: public transport. We got on the bus that lead to the chairlift, and at last we were up in the snow. Snow is not the right word though. It was a mixture of water, a little bit of dirt, small rocks, and some melting snow. Complete disaster. It was one of the last days for snowboarding for the season, so we had to use the opportunity, no matter the awful conditions. We went to our favorite track – the one with the least number of people on it. The first few runs were perfect, but then the so-called pros came and ruined everything. Since all they could do was to take pictures, they spent all their time posing on the top of the peak. Eventually, a small avalanche fell down. It was nothing big, but it still looked really frightening. The avalanche fell around eleven thirty, around two hours after we made our first “hit”. I assumed it as a sign that I should go back home, in front of the TV, instead of staying up there, wet and freezing, thinking if the next avalanche wouldn’t fall right below me. So I told my brother that I’m going home. He told me that should better blow my head off, but I said that I didn’t want to remember my last going up as a disaster. I went home, and then I realized that he was right. It was one of the last days with some snow, and I was laying on my bed, doing nothing.