Learning to ski! Yes, really!

I've always wanted to ski. It's probably just my fascination with snow, to be honest, more than the idea of actually exercising in it. But really, the concept of standing at the top of a mountain and being able to swing your body side to side and just zoom down to the bottom (with very little effort, right?) has always been so enticing to an Aussie like me!

My first chance came when I was studying in Nova Scotia, Canada, when I was twenty-two. Some friends organised a ski trip for the Saturday, and then the Wednesday before, I fell down some stairs

Looks like I won't be learning to ski in Canada then...

  and broke my foot. I was in a boot-walker for the remainder of the winter, and thus began my endless stream of foot and ankle problems.

And then there was the winter that we first moved to Switzerland, in 2010. I was excited but also scared about the prospect, as any discussion with any member of the public about skiing ultimately turns into something equalling the likes of some exotic disease: that is, it always ends in paralysis, coma and death. I had one chance, it turned out, and I made the stupid mistake to actually attempt snow-boarding, as all of my friends here at the time were snowboarders. I booked a lesson in the morning and the afternoon, and two hours of repeatedly falling on my butt with extreme force, of catching myself with my hands, of never being able to throw my centre-of-gravity forward enough to be able to get up myself... well, I ended up having to cancel my afternoon lesson. The next six weeks saw me having to cancel my yoga lessons due to a hyperextended elbow.

Paris in a wheelchair... not pretty

But I still had the rest of the winter, right? No need for me to worry, though, as I broke my ankle again (yes, the same one... actually, I crushed a bunch of bones, but let's not get finicky) in a netball tournament in Paris, and that ruled out the winter of 2010.

The next winter, last winter, I was busy building a baby, and repeatedly falling over was probably not a good idea.

Preamble over.

Along came the winter of 2012/2013. And suddenly I had no excuses anymore. In July, I began to feel anxious about potentially learning to ski. As the air grew colder, my anxiety worsened... it seemed, you see, that I had become a very accident prone lady. Broken feet, crushed bones in my ankle, a hyperextended elbow, and later a broken elbow... all of this exacerbated by a very poor sense of proprioception thanks to my fibromyalgia... Obviously I was going to die. Or worse: Have an horrific injury that causes brain damage and leaves my husband and my little boy with a burden to carry as they care for me the rest of my life.

Catastrophising much?

A breeze of relief washed over me when my sister agreed to visit us at the same time that we would be staying in the mountains, and she agreed to learn to ski with me. At least there would be someone there to call the rescue chopper! When she arrived, though, she knew that something was amiss. She can read me like a book... and only after prodding and probing did I admit how scared I was, and how worried I was about being seriously injured now that I have a baby. She went about organising us private lessons and ensuring our instructor knew about my fears, and then off we went.

Monday... not the best of views! And what am I doing with those poles?

We had three morning lessons of two hours each -- Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Monday, I 'faced my fears' (my most hated phrase in the world... I like my comfort bubble!) and, although I repeatedly fell, I managed to actually ski a bunny slope and returned home injury free. I learnt to do some turns and managed some controlled stops. I still had a way to go with getting out of the way quickly enough at the top of the travellator though...


Wednesday, and it was as if I had learnt nothing on Monday. The snow was completely different thanks to the incredible sunshine, and every subtle move I was making on Monday did nothing. I fell and fell and fell, I nearly took out a young child, and it seemed that our instructor was really having to pull at straws to find something to tell me that might fix it... if it wasn't for my amazing sister making fun of me and laughing all of the time, I would have called it quits and left crying.

Wednesday -- Sun! The one looking uncomfortable? That's me :)

Friday came and the first thirty minutes was a repeat of Wednesday. I was gutted. I was so good on the Monday! The beginners area had three different slopes, with one very steep slope at the end (our instructor said it was the equivalent of a red run). I was yet to make it down the steep slope without falling dramatically. But it seemed that Merlin, our instructor, had had enough and wanted us to actually give it a shot at skiing down the mountain. For real. Oh my god, I was really to poo my pants.

And here we are, skiing down the mountain. Yes, I fell. Of course. But I did it!!! And wow it was just spectacular. By the end, I actually had the hang of this skiing business! We got down the mountain in a bit under an hour (ha. Yes, really), and then took the chairlift up for another shot, Merlin making sure that we were okay if we were late (what a nice guy). I skied down to where the run veers off to the bunny slopes, and fell just once but quite dramatically. I then realised how exhausted I was, and it took literally five minutes for me to find the strength to stand up. I sent my sister and Merlin off down the mountain (she says that she didn't fall once! What a superstar!) and I went back to the nemesis of the steep bunny slope. I'm so glad I did -- I went down the slope perhaps a dozen times, all different ways, with different turns, and I nailed it every time! The last time, I even threw out some snow when I turned at the end, and managed to ski right onto the travellator to make my way back to the top. I was on such a high!

HELL YEAH! WE DID IT!

My sister says that the great thing about learning to ski for her was just the concept of being able to learn a completely new skill, from being unable to even walk while holding onto our skis, to actually skiing down a real live mountain. For me, it was the fact that I returned injury free, having finally achieved what I deemed as my next badge of assimilation into the world that is life in Switzerland.

Now to get up the guts to try again...