(A speech to practice gestures, facial expressions, eye contact, and body movement, which are indicated in parentheses.)

This is a story about a ski trip to Beech Mountain with my 11 year old son, Stefan. (Stefan is written on the whiteboard.) This was two years ago, so he was only 9 years old then. We went to Beech Mountain, North Carolina, for some downhill skiing. I say "downhill skiing" to contrast with cross-country skiing. (Arms are waved in a motion similar to poling on downhill skis and cross-country skis.) Sometimes in the South we call it snow skiing because skiing most often implies water skiing in this region of rivers and lakes.

The first day there, I placed Stefan in a beginners class. After his 2-hour lesson was complete, we rejoined with smiles (a smile is made to the audience) and readiness to master the mountain. (A thumbs up is held out displaying confidence.)

My son and I skied together in a way only a father would remember and cherish. We had many fun moments (give a cheerful look), some frustrating moments (head is shaken), and finally some tired moments (body slumps and arms are dropped). This fatigue led to a new game. Experienced skiers often stop by quickly cutting sideways and braking via the sides of their skis (sideways hop & stop is demonstrated). Stefan tried this and wiped out. He had so much that he did this repeatedly and on purpose.

That night we ate at a quaint little fast food joint decorated with a huge hot dog on its roof. It was a local chain in the northeaster region of Tennessee. I cannot remember the name. Perhaps one of you have been in that area of Tennessee and know? (Palm is held out facing up and moved from side to side soliciting a response with eye contact around the room.)

Our second day at Beech Mountain included a new sport. The ski resort had prepared a sled run and hosted sledding using inner tubes. The attraction was sold in half days, so Stefan and I paid for the morning. We had planned to return home that afternoon.

The sled run was a pair of runs with a tow rope for climbing the hill. A run ran down hill, flattened, continued down, flattened again, continued down again, and then flattened one last time for a roomy deceleration and stopping area. (A flat hand traces the path of the run.) The tow rope was nice to have in place of walking up the hill each time as we must do in neighborhood make-shift sled runs. (Arms reach out and body leans to imply the position required while being drug up the hill by the tow rope.)

Stefan and I sledded together in tandem, in a train, alone, racing, and separately. Near the end of the morning, Stefan tried to race me down the run that paralleled the one I was on. I noticed him only as I started down the hill. At the bottom, I was first. I was the only. Stefan had bounced off of his inner tube and smacked his head (arms and body demonstrate the movement) against the packed snow, which is more like ice. When I approached him part way back up the hill, he was unconscious. His eyes were rolled back into his head. I turned to an attendant, who was just a kid, and stated we needed emergency medical help.

At this point in the story, allow me to ease your concerns. He recovered completely and he is a healthy boy today. This incident has become a story my family will never forget.

The ski patrol came to the site of the sled runs and carried him to first aid. I don’t how many of you have seen ski patrols but they are strong skiers who carry injured skiers down hills behind them on sleds. They ski in a snowplow (feet and legs are arranged to demonstrate) to prevent gaining too much speed. If you haven’t snowplowed, allow me to convince you it is not easy, especially with a load. Nonetheless, the ski patrol person made it to first aid long before I could get there on foot. When I did arrive, first aid had already called for an ambulance to take Stefan to the closest hospital. We went, Stefan by ambulance, me by van, to a small hospital in Banner Elk, North Carolina. They found a hairline skull fracture and requested transfer by ambulance to the hospital in Johnson City, Tennessee.

But while I was in the Banner Elk hospital, I had to call my wife to let her know we would not be home on time. (A hand in the shape of a phone receiver is placed near one ear.) I’m sure you can imagine what that conversation was like: very upsetting to Stefan’s mother and embarrassing for me for at least two reasons. My wife is the typical motherly type and I can never measure up to her parental skills. Secondly, I failed to take my medical insurance card so I had to gather that information over the phone to give to the administrators in the emergency room.

The second hospital was about a 45 minutes from the first. I followed the ambulance most of the way (hands and arms simulate steering a car), but was left behind in traffic when entering Johnson City. We stayed the night in Johnson City. Doctors were being very cautious to assure there no more serious head injuries, which I was glad to allow. After Stefan became coherent and rational again and after he kept food down for several hours, doctors felt it was safe to go home. So we arrive home about one and one half days late. Mostly what he suffered was a latent head headache.

My voice includes evidence of the common cold, but that is not the type of many runs that I referenced in the title of this speech. It was the one too many runs down the hill.