This is our training and competition hill. The whole run is about half a mile long but the only part that matters is here near the bottom -- 250 meters of the longest, steepest, nastiest moguls that man ever dreamed of. Early on, Matt and the Killington Course Crews come up here in the snow-cats to build this playground. It's all done on a grand scale here. Stand on a mogul and see eye-to-ski-tip with the guy on the mogul above you.

At the start, you wait for the forerunners. Coach talks but for some reason on this day you don't hear him. Shift the skis, loosen the legs. The cold snap to the day fills your whole body with total demanding energy -- you have to fly and gravity be damned.

Three. two. one. go.

You've got perfect rhythm on the upper bumps, not even a stumble. Skis are pounding parallel, knees are right up in your chest, the big white patches flashing in the judges' eyes. Triple-twist on the top air and you know you've hit it just right because the next 15 moguls are effortless. A 360-iron cross off the bottom air, with that little flick of the poles when you snap it. Glide through the next mogul series, legs screaming through the last dozen bumps. Every chair on the high-speed quad is full and they're all watching. The blue sky and red fences flash their color in your eyes, cheers and yells can be barely heard over the loud blaring music. Cross the line and slam to a stop, cover the coaches and all the video cameras with a huge blast of snow. Nobody cares. Score's up and you've never done that well in your life. Hide the emotion - psyche them all out. A quick pump of the fist.

Okay, all you wannabes -- beat that.