Skiing with Chase, an ten-year-old with spina bifida, elicits the usual comments from other skiers when they see the sit down Bi-ski he uses: "It's wonderful he's out here," "How special," or "He's so brave." Then I look at their big plastic boots (ankle-foot orthotics?) and snowboard or skis (prosthetic gliding apparatus?) and scratch my head. Hey! All skiing is adaptive!

If anything, adaptive skiing is special because it is so thoroughly normal. It goes beyond the subtle condescension and disempowering pity of "brave" and ends up at "just skiing." I would stop and explain that to the observers, but we have too many more runs to make. And besides, they let us cut in the lift line!

As a fourth year medical student headed for a career in physical medicine and rehabilitation, I cannot be happier. I have discovered a field of medicine which will allow me to fulfill my dream of caring for people as a physician in a way in which I never could have imagined. Yes, I look forward to seeing patients in clinics and on the wards, making sure their medical needs are met. However, I am even more excited about the opportunities I will have to interact with the patients and their families in adaptive recreational activities. The time I spent with the disABLED kids at Massanutten was priceless. To see the joy and excitement on their faces as they skied for the first time. And, the anxiousness one of the boys displayed at lunch when he said, "I just can't wait to get back out there. I just can't wait." (We had only been inside for 15 minutes or so.) I must confess that I even found pleasure in seeing the kids a little upset, and maybe even crying, at the end of the day. Not because I am heartless and like to see kids cry. Rather, I knew that was an unmasked, genuine indication that they truly enjoyed the day out, and that they didn't want to leave. I can only hope to be there when they get to go back. I want to experience it- the fun, the joy, the tears - all over again.

The empowerment felt could clearly be seen on the participants faces. Family members were amazed at what seemed like an impossibility occurring before their eyes. For a disabled person to ski down the hill with greater ease than some "able bodied" with the proper assistance and equipment, the doors to the world opened in the minds of all involved and those casually observing. What a wonderful thing to see, and what a great lesson in how easily perceived barriers can come crashing down with a nudge down the slope. I encourage all involved in the care of the disabled to see what is possible on a ski slope. Only by opening your own mind to the possibilities that exist, can you truly treat and guide your patients out of the hospital and into a fulfilling and rewarding life. I would like to thank all those involved in making a day of adaptive skiing an experience I will never forget.

When I asked to accompany Dr. Slater on an adaptive skiing trip, I expected mostly to enjoy a sunny day in the snow with a group of children. I did not expect that the experience would trigger such vivid memories of my own early days on the slopes! Their striking specialized equipment notwithstanding, the looks on the children's faces were exactly the same as I picture my own to have been while learning the unique combination of intensity and release that skiing requires. At any rate, they were indistinguishable from those of the other children on the slopes. The challenge and joy of helping them to learn how to ski is something I won't soon forget.

As a rehabilitation physician, I profess to pediatric and adult patients the potential benefits of active recreation. Participants in such activities are more likely to be employed, perform better in school, have less depression, and fewer medical complications and subsequent hospital stays.

However, on the ski hill, no words, and certainly, no medical evidence can approach the palpable excitement created.. Our ski outing gave the chance for four year-old twins, one with cerebral palsy, to succeed on the slopes together while their proud parents looked on. Brianna, an inquisitive eight year-old with spina-bifida, discovered the joy of carving turns and continued to ask how much she was being assisted from behind her bi-ski. I was happy to report her increased independence with each run.

The Ziggy Theorem (a health psychology axiom adapted from the comic strip) states that life is doing stuff. As a rehabilitation professional, I work with persons with disabilities to help them maximize their ability to function independently - so that they can do stuff. As a rehabilitation psychologist, I recognize how attitudes and emotional reactions influence, and often limit, that ability. I guess for me, what adaptive reaction represents is the opportunity for individuals to do activities with an eye towards accommodating impairments, whatever those might be, rather than limiting activities because of disabling environments or attitudes.

But its more than that, as illustrated so well on our trips to Massanutten. Adaptive skiing isn't just getting out - its doing stuff that society sees as cool. The experience is beneficial on so many different levels - the physical, sometime aerobic, activity; the change in environment; the social interaction; the boosts to self-esteem. Its doing stuff that you can brag about - just like any other student at school or employee around the water cooler. Its hanging out and challenging friends and laughing as you make mistakes and cheering and strutting when you overcome them; its scoping for "hotties" (yes, Wesley, your cool stance and scans of the snow bunnies were noted) and bragging about it all afterwards. As Colin pointed out earlier, adaptive skiing, as with most adaptive sports, is not "brave" or "courageous" or "heroic" but wonderfully normal in a way that happens all too infrequently.