ski-chick diaries: post-piste
On arrival in Torgon, as I slipped clumsily down the icy incline to my bedroom, the thought that I was unable to stay upright on the snow in my ugg-boots accentuated doubts that I was actually going to live to see the end of the week once I traded comfortable footwear for skis.
In the week that ensued I found myself flying down mountainsides at speeds that I'd be far more comfortable doing in a car. My peers were convinced that I had learned to ski in the space of a few days when, in fact, I'd simply not learned how to take it slow or how to stop effectively. Despite my inability to use my snow-plough technique to keep me from racing my fellow skiers, I came away with relatively few injuries and only a couple of bruises. These were largely due to beginner blunders such as slipping down slopes backwards, leaving my beginner group far behind as I careered towards a forest of pine trees and a couple of instances where my legs simply gave up on me after more exercise than they have ever had to endure over the course of my entire 24 years of existence.
Thanks to Sander, our Dutch instructor who fell down laughing into the snow every time one of us landed on our backsides or jammed a ski-lift or flew into the snow face-first, I did in fact learn to enjoy the slopes of Porte Du Soleil and found myself planning next years trip without a moments hesitation.
Fox was incredibly encouraging until an impromptu off-piste detour left me totally buried in thick, white powder. Unable to see through my snow-covered goggles, all I could hear were the muffled sounds of Fox's laughter from the top of the slope as I shouted the need to be rescued. After ensuring that my distress was caught on film, my knight-in-ski-gear came whooshing down the slope on his snowboard to pull me from my snowy-pit...my hero.
The thermals are packed away for another year. But the mulled wine is warming and pisters are revving, ready for ski-chick to dominate the slopes in 2009. Until then!
In the week that ensued I found myself flying down mountainsides at speeds that I'd be far more comfortable doing in a car. My peers were convinced that I had learned to ski in the space of a few days when, in fact, I'd simply not learned how to take it slow or how to stop effectively. Despite my inability to use my snow-plough technique to keep me from racing my fellow skiers, I came away with relatively few injuries and only a couple of bruises. These were largely due to beginner blunders such as slipping down slopes backwards, leaving my beginner group far behind as I careered towards a forest of pine trees and a couple of instances where my legs simply gave up on me after more exercise than they have ever had to endure over the course of my entire 24 years of existence.
Thanks to Sander, our Dutch instructor who fell down laughing into the snow every time one of us landed on our backsides or jammed a ski-lift or flew into the snow face-first, I did in fact learn to enjoy the slopes of Porte Du Soleil and found myself planning next years trip without a moments hesitation.
Fox was incredibly encouraging until an impromptu off-piste detour left me totally buried in thick, white powder. Unable to see through my snow-covered goggles, all I could hear were the muffled sounds of Fox's laughter from the top of the slope as I shouted the need to be rescued. After ensuring that my distress was caught on film, my knight-in-ski-gear came whooshing down the slope on his snowboard to pull me from my snowy-pit...my hero.
The thermals are packed away for another year. But the mulled wine is warming and pisters are revving, ready for ski-chick to dominate the slopes in 2009. Until then!
Labels: experience, travel
posted by foxy_roxtar at 11:57 AM
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