Flying down the snow-packed downhill course at breakneck speed, Nadja Munroe felt her skis underneath her feet, chattering noisily against the ice. Feeling the blistering wind whipping against her face, she felt a strange adrenaline rush of being one with the mountain. Nadja felt like she was waking up from a long summer.

Amongst the Chugach Mountains, Nadja felt at home again, where she belonged. She had grown up in Girdwood with her parents before her mom died. Her father moved east, not wanting to be surrounded by the memories, but grudgingly allowed his daughter to train in Girdwood during the winters.

Then Nadja's skiing started to suffer. She started to listen to all the doubters telling her she was too slow and would never race an Olympic downhill course. She even dropped out of the upcoming junior races, preparing to move to Yakutat permanently. But spending that time in May with her father in Yakutat invigorated her. Surrounded by cruise ships and fishing outings, she yearned for her Alaska with snow and ice and mountains.

Nadja adjusted her skis, surprised at how quickly the next turn came. She had never felt so much raw power before. She almost had to force herself to maintain control into the turns, using all her technical skills. She couldn't think too much. She just had to focus on staying in her tuck position and let the skis run.

Approaching the final hill, Nadja took flight, staying crouched down in a perfect downhill tuck. She soared, touching down at the bottom of the hill, surprised at just how far she flew this time. Nadja had never done that before. She continued until she reached the end of the course. Nadja knew the bundled form of her new coach Angelina Luker would be waiting with a stopwatch. Her legs were tired, but Nadja urged herself to finish the last distance in a burst of speed.

Nadja crossed the finish line and heard the familiar click of the stopwatch. Finally she allowed herself to relax. Her legs ached from the extra effort needed to complete the course, but she didn't feel that tired. Nadja glanced nervously towards her coach waiting for the verdict.

"Not bad." Mrs. Luker said, checking the time.

Nadja echoed in disbelief, "Not bad?"

"You lost some speed near the end with that long flight, you're still hesitant in some of the turns," Mrs. Luker said, deflating some of Nadja's good spirits. The coach seemed to delight in finding the slightest things wrong with her technique, pushing her that much harder. Then the older woman admitted. "But you have improved considerably since you started training with me. You shaved off several seconds in your start time." She added with obvious admiration. "Your turns are very strong. Have ever you considered racing the Super G?"

Nadja shook her head. "Before I met you, my old coach wanted to switch me to slalom racing." She still remembered the day she met her new coach. Nadja had walked into the Alyeska Ski Resort, preparing to take a new approach to skiing. Then Nadja met Angelina Luker, a new ski coach recently moved into the area, who was adamant about working with her, saying Nadja could not leave all that untapped potential to go to waste. Nadja had thought that remark seemed very strange, especially since she hadn't won any major races.

Mrs. Luker had asked her other strange questions about what unusual things Nadja had noticed in the area before she arrived. Aside from the occasional earthquake or avalanche, Nadja wondered what the woman expected to hear. Yeti and snow creatures?

But Nadja had been feeling different since that May, stronger even. Nadja was willing to trust this woman to a point. What did Nadja have to lose anyway?

"It's far too late to change tactics," Mrs. Luker broke her reverie, "you need to have those instincts early. You've already found the type of skiing you seem to prefer. What we must do is make you better. Train you. Prepare you..." Then the older woman hesitated.

Nadja asked. "Prepare me for what?"

Mrs. Luker smiled faintly. "That remains to be seen." She scribbled down the time on her notepad and tucked both into a large pocket of her ski jacket. "Now we should get back to the resort and discuss your training regimen."

"Training regimen?" Nadja said with faint surprise.

Mrs. Luker nodded. "Raw power is no use unless it is harnessed properly, Miss Munroe, especially alone with two strips of wood and plexiglass between you and the mountain." She added more insistently. "You must train further. Unless you want to return to your father in that little fishing village..."

Nadja flinched. Her new coach knew exactly what buttons to push. "No, no... I want to be better. I'll do whatever I need to. I just don't know how to improve. All this," she pointed to her poles, "is second nature to me."

"Not surprising," Mrs. Luker said, "most of the... most champions are naturals. Understand, Nadja," Mrs. Luker finally used her first name, "you can be more than just a great skier, but you have to be willing to commit the time and effort. I can help you with the training. I can guide you in your studies. But your ultimate destiny... is up to you." She grudgingly admitted this, as if she was not used to doing things this way.

Nadja was confused. What did she mean about becoming more than just a great skier? Isn't that what she was training her to be? Except the more she listened to her training ideas, Nadja thought differently. Skiers did cross train. She had tried some of those dry land exercises, working on her knees and hips, but she had never heard of instructors incorporating martial arts or kickboxing.

And there was Mrs. Luker's odd accent, faintly British and faintly Germanic. Nadja had thought her new teacher might simply be Canadian. Nadja, though, had done some web searches before she started working with Mrs. Luker, but the only reference she found was an Angelina Fraser, who skied for Great Britain in Innsbruck, Austria. But if they were one and the same, Nadja had expected to find her in a university somewhere, teaching Latin and Greek, not holed up in an Alaskan ski resort.

"Why are you doing this?" Nadja demanded finally, surprising her teacher. "Why me? I mean, there are all sorts of other girls out there who are thousands times better than I am. I'm not the one girl in the all the world..."

Angelina Fraser Luker sighed, "No, you're not... anymore."

THE END

(The title was inspired by the fact that there was actually a small earthquake that registered in Yakutat, Alaska on the night of May 21st. Coincidence? Maybe.)