I went skiing a few weeks ago.
I can tell you know that I won’t be going ever again.
With Matt living so close to the some mountains in France, it seemed like a good idea to have a go when I visited him a couple of weeks ago. Especially as Matt’s quite a good skier and has been on at me for ages about going on a skiing holiday, so I figured this would give me a chance to have a go and see if I like it before committing to a week of what could potentially be hell.
I’ve never really “got” skiing– I don’t understand why anyone would want to spend a long period of time outside in the cold, travelling up a mountain just to slide all the way back down again.
Anyway, as I’ve never been before, I didn’t have any of clothes to wear. And to be honest, I had no interest in buying a skiing outfit for one day of skiing. So I borrowed a pair of amazing pink ski trousers from a friend at work, bought myself a pair of very cute pink ski socks and took a couple of jumpers, vests, thermal tights and my mittens and ear muffs and thought that would be fine. Especially as I just assumed that we’d be skiing on a tiny little mountain with not many people around.
I really must stop assuming things, because once again, I was wrong.
For starters, when I showed Matt my ski clothes he just looked at me and laughed and told me I’d freeze. So I had to buy a pair of hideous sunglasses from the supermarket that had diamante stars on the arm, some proper ski gloves and a hat. But, because I’m cheap, I didn’t want to pay £30 for a hat from the proper skiing shop so I went into H&M and bought the only thing I could find, which happened to be a turban.
A navy, knitted turban.
I looked ridiculous. And then we turned up at the ski slope, and I felt even more ridiculous because it was huge and there were loads and loads of people. And they all looked like they could ski and they all had on proper ski clothes. I was wearing a pair of bright pink trousers, a leather jacket and bright white gloves, topped off with my new turban that was held in place with my ear muffs. Oh, and a purple snood.
When we eventually got to the top of the slope (which took a while as I found it impossible to walk in ski boots and it took forever to get to the lift) we found a quiteish area and Matt started to show me how to ski.
I fell over almost straight away. And then kept falling over. Over and over and over again. But I eventually managed to stand up straight and go down a (very tiny) slope and curve to the side. I was very pleased with myself.
Until Matt decided I should try the baby slope (although I swear the bit we were practicing on was steeper than the baby slope but whatever). I don’t think I’ve ever found anything as traumatic as trying to cling onto the wire that moves you up the slope. I screamed and fell over the first time and then the second time I fell off at the top. And it was all for nothing, because I couldn’t seem to stand upright for long enough to get to the bottom and I kept falling over, whilst all these little kids sailed past me.
The best bit was the chocolate brownie that I ate in the little lodge and watching Matt fly down the big slopes. I think I can safely say that I won’t be going on any skiing holidays for a while.