Snow Ski's and Shingles : Part 1

Skiing, in the opinion of a pure amateur, is basically skidding down a hill and remaining upright! A bit like surfing a wave but on a harder surface!

As one improves, one is able to look graceful, skilled even and those who dedicate themselves to hours of practice ….. look amazing.

Like most of the residents of Porthcawl I dabbled in the art of surfing as I grew up. I sat out with the other neoprene wrapped bodies, calling to the God of the Waves through the thick coastal mist that regularly settled over us. 

As the children got older I allowed them to use my Surf Ski and I even invested in a second ski so we could paddle the waves together. But I was never a dedicated master. I clung to my board 'hoping' to stay on as I hurtled down the face of the wave rather than 'knowing' I was in control. I stood proud when I made it and laughed each time I was thrown into the sea.

I did a lot of laughing in those days!!!

My career in Skiing was basically the same!

Under the watchful eye of Romana I was fitted for my boots and Ski's, while the boys sorted out their Snow-boards. I stood up, feeling like solid seven stone weights had been attached to my feet, and shuffled to the door, skis and sticks held out for balance!

No snow had fallen during the night, much to the boys dismay, so my first walk from the Ski Shop to the slopes 200m away was at least on solid non slippery ground. 

I had just begun to master the rocking fixed ankle walk as we emerged from the covered bridge onto the ski slope ridge and decided to worry about aching muscles later.

I had planned to have an easy morning watching the boys as they enjoyed their three hour snow board lesson but Romana had other ideas. Sticks were placed in my hands, my feet were placed into the classic position of the snow plough and down the slope I began to slide with Romana skiing slightly in front of me to break my fall should I need her!!!

The little slope at Donovaly starts off with a sweet gradual incline that virtually levels off before dropping away again to what looks like a 45 degree angle straight down. At the bottom of this steep hill the sides close in to form a narrow gap before the whole thing opens up again to reveal a wide gentle slope to the bottom of the valley.

Three times I hit the deck before I had moved three feet. Each time I thanked my yoga practices for allowing my legs to actually make it into the angles they had achieved with out breaking. Each time Romana got me up, talked me through what I had done to end up with the amazing resulting angles that I now found myself in and helped me to start again.

By the time I had managed to slid down the sweet gradual incline I was feeling more confident. I had not been on my backside for over 15 minutes, I was in control!!!

As I eased myself over the ridge I saw for the first time the steepness on the drop but by then it was too late. Although I now knew how to go in a straight line, I had not thought to ask how to stop. Until now I had just ploughed into Romana to stop and together we had sideways climbed back up the hill!

With my legs fixed in their position, the skis forming a perfect right angle in front of me I began to gather speed. To say I was graceful is untrue, yet to say I was ungraceful is also untrue. In my fixed position I hurtled down the mountain side, grateful for the fact that everyone else seemed to get out of the way at just the right moment. I 'aimed' for the gap at the bottom, amazing myself at my surprising ability as I shot through it and onto the softer snow below. 

Still upright I began to slow, still upright I began to relax my, until now, ridged muscles and turn to the side fence. I was still upright when Romana arrived beside me, then I stopped!

If the truth be told I stopped for a bare millisecond before my feet began to move backwards. Now one must remember that at this point I knew only how to stand in the classic plough position, a position that until this point had served me brilliantly. A position that has not only got me down the steep mountain side but had also allowed me to do so in style (of a sort). It was a position I knew and trusted so well that it never occurred to me to move my feet until it was well and truly too late.

Slowly but steadily, as I moved backwards, my legs began splay out into a widening split. My ski's, still at their ninety degree angle, pulled each foot apart, the attached leg going with them. For the briefest of seconds I remained upright … for the briefest of seconds I wondered what to do and then I hit the deck ...face first, as my hands were still grasping my sticks!!

With my ski so far out, my hips rotated deeply into the floor, my belly flat on the snow I was totally helpless so I began to laugh. 

Just like in the days of my surfing youth I had survived, not with the skill of the dedicated but by the God of the Slopes will and an awful lot of luck!!

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If my initial decent of the baby hill side could be loosely described as 'graceful' under the rules of poetic licence and mild exaggeration, to say my initial accent of said hill was 'not the best' would stand at the opposite end of the scale where under-exaggeration would stand shoulder to shoulder with blatant lie!

While the boys continued their lesson, Romana ushered me through the gate of the Ski-lift explaining in Slovakian to the guy in charge that I would need help. He spoke good English, he even explained himself quite well but somewhere in the wording I has misunderstood a vital part of the process.

DO NOT SIT DOWN!!

Having missed the swinging arm three times, I was instructed to stand aside to let the growing queue of people pass. I resumed my place upon my patient instructors instruction and promptly missed the pole yet again, (although I think I more let go of it that time!!)

As yet another pole with its coloured circular disc came around the corner, the patient instructor caught it for me and in a quite undignified manner shoved it between my legs while forcing my hands around the cold steel upright. I was jerked forward with such velocity that I nearly fell forward but in the last instant I managed to lean back . This in turn made my feet shoot forward, feet with seven stone weights attached, feet that had no traction, no control…. so I sat down!!

Embarrassment, frustration, helplessness all engulfed me as I was dragged along the floor, legs buckled beneath me, knees not strong enough to lift me. I considered letting go but the coloured disc that had been placed between my thighs was now wedged between my buttocks and my boots and wasn't going anywhere.

Slowly up the hill I slid with my Slovakian Ski-lift Instructor shouting untranslatable words into the clear crisp air. I cleared the first small ridge fighting with every adrenaline charged cell to straighten my legs, to lift myself from the bum dragging sitting position to the elegant upright one embraced by everyone else on the lift both in front and behind me.

I do not know where the strength came from, I do not know if it was even strength that got me up or some strange combination of mathematical angles and velocity but as I cleared the second ridge I found myself upright, clinging desperately to the metal pole, legs locked at the knees, ankles and hips, relieved yet too afraid to look anywhere except at the ground immediately in front of me as I watched for every bump, rise and fall, adjusting my weight as much as my rigid muscles would allow.

As I neared the top it dawned on me, once more, that no forward planning had been made and I had no idea how to get off this moving pole-wielding contraption!! Forward planning, I vowed, was something that was going to need some careful attention from now on!!

As I had entered the lift, Romana had taken my sticks to simplify my accent (!!*??*!!) My abilities to stop were still in question, my ability to get off a moving ski lift were totally unknown!! I smiled and got ready to laugh!!

In the final seconds as I neared the top of the hill I assessed my options.

I could not let go and see what happened, but a quick glance across to the downward side of the lift ruled that out, Rocks and snow boulders were strewn along the way.

I could scream for help and trust there was a five year old who could speak English at the top to save me!

I could try to remove myself from the lift by letting go and skiing over the side ridge. This could result in either me falling over in a tangle of legs and arms or possibly continuing my movement until I skied over the side of the mountain.

Somehow I needed a plan to stop!!

Never have I been so grateful to see a patch of potentially non slippery grass on a snow covered mountain side! As I drew level with it I removed the coloured disc from between my legs, gripping it tightly in both hands. Carefully I angled myself over the left hand steep ice ridge that had formed on either side of the lift path, letting go of the pole as its momentum shoved me over and onto the grass.

I must admit I hadn't put much thought into how non slippery the grass would be. I did however give it quite a bit of thought as I stopped! I stopped so suddenly that I nearly fell flat on my face again as everything from the hips down stopped and the rest of me continued onwards. Much arm flapping in a most undignified way followed as I fought to remain upright.

Slowly I stood erect, slowly I looked around, no one was watching, no one was judging, I had made it to the top and I was still emotionally as well as physically alive!!