I have clearly always had lists of things I wanted to achieve, even aged 8 this was no different:
1 – Go in a car wash
2 – Go in a black taxi
3 – Go skiing
I am pleased to say that the first two were easily achieved but number three always seemed so far out of reach.
As a child, I remember several children at school going on skiing holidays. There were two sisters in particular whose parents were teachers at the local secondary school, and from an early age they accompanied their parents on this annual Easter trip. I remember thinking that this was a really amazing holiday and how privileged they were. In my head (aged 8), I thought this wasn’t something that I would NEVER get to do!
I had an unexpected opportunity in 2003 to go skiing when working in Italy. One Sunday after breakfast, whilst working in schools around Belluno and Trento in the north, a local Italian contact suggested (with ease) that we should go skiing. Like it was something you just went and did impromptu on a Sunday afternoon. Myself and my two British colleagues thought this was a little too risky and unplanned, (especially with a hangover) and would perhaps result in us failing to report for work on Monday.
So, fast forward seventeen years and I eventually made it to the slopes! Combining our trip in February to Vienna for the Opera with an introductory go on the ski slopes.
One rather wet Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks before our journey, we headed to Tamworth Snow Dome to have a ‘crash course’ in skiing. With a very officious and unsympathetic instructor I felt we would either become incredibly proficient (through force) or die trying to master this sport.
Strangely this experience did help to build my confidence, after gravitating to a different instructor but Edward decided to explore the snow on the ground more than once, taking a few children out in his wake!
As mentioned in my previous post about learning a new sport, I am not naturally sporty but I do have reasonable balance from dancing. That is, until I got on to the slopes! I suppose I should say at this point, that throughout my 20’s and 30’s I have been quite accident prone, so the chance that this might end in injury was almost inevitable!
Along with the romantic imagery I had of myself and Edward skiing proficiently with grace down the side of a mountain, I also thought a train journey through the Austrian alps was something straight out of a Mills and Boon book!
I am pleased to say that the two-hour journey from Vienna to our chosen resort of Semmereing was everything I had hoped for, we really were not disappointed in the slightest. With endless amounts of beautiful scenery outside the window as the train sped through the mountains. I felt like we were exploring the unknown, seeing tiny hidden villages and towns that perhaps no one else knew about and may only be visible from the train. The sun was shining and only a small amount of snow remained in the inlets between the mountains.
What they don’t tell you is that the most exhausting part of skiing is the getting dressed! I resembled a Michelin man after piling layer upon layer of my borrowed ski wear. As someone who has spent years in warmer climates, layering is something I do well and Ed consistently says my usual attire in the UK resembles the scene from Cool Runnings where he arrives out of the airport, (look it up it’s pretty accurate)!
Trying to find suitable boots to fit was also a challenge I managed to eventually overcome. Having irregular sized feet (my left being half a size bigger than the right) makes any shoe fitting experience lengthier than anyone really wants, particularly with size eight/half! Add to that the complexities of trying to decide what a snow boot should actually feel like, I now know 45 minutes is the minimum time to allow, before any skiing takes place. I won’t mention the need to undress to go to the loo, which for anyone that knows me well, will have already realised was a certainty that was to be repeated several times before actually getting anywhere near the snow. Accomplishing the walk in the boots in order to alleviate yourself is also something you need to experience, just don’t be in a rush!
My confidence from the dry slope in Tamworth was all I had to accompany me as our instructor Wolfgang asked us to individually show him our skills! On a ‘slope’ that was almost as flat as my garden, I bent my knees pushed my toes together and began to slide the short distance towards him. Throughout the afternoon my confidence continued to build and Edward’s continued to plummet. That is until our instructor took us to the slopes and corners became my enemy but Ed began to really get the side to side course that we were asked to follow.
Confidently leaving Ed and Wolfgang behind, my first fall came as I turned my first big corner (on my own)! It seems confidence was with me until I was faced with the descent of the mountain, at which point it disappeared swiftly, probably burying itself deep into the snow as I decided the best place for me was on my left buttock!
The last hic-cup of the day was after I thought I had accomplished the left to right zig zag course that we had been advised to take, but in truth I had only properly achieved 50% of this, meaning that turning right became a problem. Instead, I therefore uncontrollably planted myself and my ski's into the verge of the snow and had to be backed out like an HGV lorry by Wolfgang.
I would say we went unscathed from our first full day on the snow, but that night at dinner my left ankle decided to go into spasm just as I tucked into my hard-earned dessert. My effort to get to the toilet was possibly the most interesting entertainment the sleepy hotel restaurant had seen in sometime.
The next day, with a fully functioning ankle, Edward and I decided to once again brave this popular past time of skiing for a second time. Choosing the route that we knew, (I didn’t fancy getting lost and suddenly having to hone my inner Bare Grill’s survival techniques or saw through a broken leg before frost bite set in) we headed for the Blue course.
I wasn’t really nervous about us going it without Wolfgang, but nerves soon set in each time I found myself incapable of stopping!!
I am sure there are many experts out there that would know exactly what I was doing wrong, but as somebody who listens intently to instructions and who has a reasonable understanding of my own bodies capabilities and range of movement, I really can’t quite work out what I wasn’t doing.
The point at which I careered past a mother and her small infant smoothly transiting the slopes, his ski’s inside of hers, and heard her say, ‘wow that’s fast’, I realised I was out of control! In my head, this statement made me want to do something, but I didn’t know what because all I could think was, ‘I don’t have the foggiest idea of how to stop’.
I suppose what I was dreading in reality, was broken bones or death! Sliding at what felt about 60 mph down a ski slope forced my brain to follow quickly and decide what the best action to take was. Once again, the cold hard snow somehow seemed a better option than continuing in my ‘pizza stance’ (pigeon toe style) down the rest of the mountain.
After I fell to the ground for a second time and was joined by the mother and child, I realised that I only had one ski. I shouldn’t have fretted really because the (annoyingly) helpful child accompanied by his mother was on hand, to tell me that I had impressively parted myself from my sporting equipment and it was now 100 metres ahead of me!
The walk to collect this item somehow reminded me of ‘the walk of shame’, (not that I have personally experienced this of course)! Everybody can see you and what you may, or may not be wearing, but you still have to pass them with embarrassment written all over your face. Rather like a child attempting to collect their ball from the neighbour’s garden, I tried to go unnoticed but every time my size eight/eight and a half ski boots forced their way into the snow, the crunching sound seemed to echo around the mountain tops like a noisy crisp packet in a crowded cinema.
The moment that resulted in both laughter and tears simultaneously, was my final fall where the ground cushioned me when I landed backwards hitting the ground with my head and facing down the slope. Edward, my fellow novice in this experience, saw what had happened and like the dutiful boyfriend tried to come quickly to my rescue. I would love to say it looked much like the bond movie that was playing out in my head, where he heroically skied confidently down the slope scooping me up into his arms. In reality perhaps a little too inexperienced to gallantly through caution to the wind without thinking of his safety first, which is fine. He therefore put his practise into play by starting to zig zag (in slow motion) down the slope. During this time, I lay laughing at the hilarity of him going from one side to the other for what seemed like hours. Crying because I knew that he really wanted to help me and was genuinely concerned I had ‘actually’ hurt myself. Eventually reaching about two metres away from me and then battling with removing his ski’s before walking the remaining couple of metres to check on me.
With all bones in-tact, but my confidence in tatters I faced my biggest question, do I quit or carry on?! I never consider myself a quitter and really don’t even like the word, but on this occasion, I did. Exhausted and feeling sorry for myself, my skiing experience ended there. Conscious of the time and the ski shop closing too, we walked the rest of the way down feeling annoyed, frazzled and disappointed.
Once again pleased that we gave it a go, and maybe I will rise again but not before a few more lessons on easier slopes! For now I will stick my more sedate childhood goals and head to the car wash in a black taxis!