To Ski or not to Ski?
It’s late January in Switzerland and the lull of winter has set in. The cities are vacant, and the party has moved up to the mountains. Forget après-ski! There’s the before-ski and mid-ski fun as well. So despite this California girl’s hatred for cold, I’m up in the Alps to partake in the white stuff. That fickle friend snow has arrived in heaps, just in time for me to don a new pair of skis and try not to break both my legs.
Be warned – if you see me on the slopes, avoid me like the plague. I’ve skied once every five years for the past 40 years. Which makes me a permanent beginner rather than a ski bunny, and a great annoyance to many a friend stuck babysitting me on the green slopes.
I can barely walk in heels, so the idea of strapping two smooth pieces of wood (what the hell are skis made out of these days anyway?) to my feet and hurtling down a steep incline is terrifying. There is nothing more demotivating than watching a herd of four-year olds cruise past me at breakneck speeds. As a writer, I fall into the group of folks who keep physical risk-taking to a minimum. My idea of a big thrill is a book and a bubble bath.
But here I am, ready for action. After a nasty fall in the turnstiles and a kind-hearted chairlift operator who saved me from being trampled, I’m a bit shaky, but ready for action.
Let the countdown begin…only four hours to fondue and Fendant!