I was about to step out onto the soccer pitch to referee last night (worthy of a post all of its own) when my phone rang. I checked the number and was surprised to see that the number started with 613 … that meant Australia.
Apparently the company is bidding some work and that in turn meant that there was a potential opportunity for me as our time over here starts to come to a close and we look for repatriation opportunities.
That certainly threw the mind into turmoil. After all, it would have put us back on Aussie terra firma, but it wasn’t going to be as close to home (Adelaide) as we would have liked. Added to that the requirement to provide an answer as to whether I was interested in the opportunity within 24 hours (hey, at least it wasn’t immediate!). Our ultimate aim is of course, to return to hour home soil in Adelaide, which to some extent means it was easy to say no, but was complicated by the fact that we really haven’t begun to explore our repatriation opportunities. It meant that there was no source of comparison … was this a good opportunity? It may well have been. Will there be something better closer to the time that we are actually coming home? Maybe, but we can’t be certain. It was enough to keep my mind burning until 3am.
If nothing else, it is certainly nice to know that we haven’t been forgotten on the other side of the world.
Jan 28, 2010
Jan 14, 2010
Hair raising
If you’ve seen any of our family photos recently, you’ve probably noticed that Michael has opted not to have his hair cut for awhile. Well that’s not entirely true, he did have a hair cut not that long ago, it just wasn’t really one worth speaking of.
I am of course torn. There’s that bit of me that says if the worst thing he ever does to rebel is to leave his hair long, I’ll be very lucky. But there’s that other bit of me. The bit that would desperately enjoy sneaking into his bedroom late at night with a pair of scissors ... and going to town!
It has actually reached the point in time when even the kids in his soccer team are saying that he needs a hair cut, but pushing isn’t going to work. I think its simply a game of patience. Half his problem is that he doesn’t really know how short he wants it!
Maybe I can get him involved in a shave for a cure type thing ... or at least tell him that’s what its for ...
Let the games begin.
I am of course torn. There’s that bit of me that says if the worst thing he ever does to rebel is to leave his hair long, I’ll be very lucky. But there’s that other bit of me. The bit that would desperately enjoy sneaking into his bedroom late at night with a pair of scissors ... and going to town!
It has actually reached the point in time when even the kids in his soccer team are saying that he needs a hair cut, but pushing isn’t going to work. I think its simply a game of patience. Half his problem is that he doesn’t really know how short he wants it!
Maybe I can get him involved in a shave for a cure type thing ... or at least tell him that’s what its for ...
Let the games begin.
Jan 4, 2010
Holidays with the Griswalds Tembys
We have survived our Christmas/New Year break, complete with skiing trip to Kicking Horse and whilst it went off without significant incident, there were of course a couple of minor adventures along the way.
Things started very well for us, having successfully hosted Christmas lunch for the 3rd year running. This year our guests were the Handicotts and Gauthier’s along with their parents and we had a fabulous lunch that stretched through to dinner and a bit of pool before ending relatively early. We took the opportunity to pack for our ski trip and planned for an early get away on Boxing day as we were to drive all the way to Banff, a leisurely drive of some 840kms.
Against all departure traditions, we actually managed to cram into the well packed car and head off relatively on time and with a single stop for food and petrol around Edmonton, managed to complete the exercise in about 9 and a half hours with no flat tires, no vomit nor any other unforeseen adventures. Whew!
We bunked down for the night in Banff and then headed on to Lake Louise so that we could ski there as a family (for the first time since our very first Canadian Skiing experience way back in Novmber of ’07). Caroline and I had given each other new skis for Christmas, so we were very keen to get up the mountain and explore. We had a great day skiing, balancing Michael’s complaints that everything was too easy and that he only wanted to do a double black diamond, with Emily’s terror of any icy patches and my reluctance to push myself too far beyond the nice flat spots that I enjoy so much. (I don’t mind a black run, but really dislike a bumpy run).
In the end, we covered a fair bit of the mountain and as legs grew tired and children less willing late in the day, I sent Caroline and Michael off to explore some less sane areas of the mountain and I took Emily, Thomas and Sam on some friendly parts. We finished up for the day and went to Lake Louise where we had a room booked for the night (no, not at that hotel). We did stop by there though to check out a bit of ice carving before heading back to our nearby (much less luxurious) hotel where we enjoyed a nice dinner and spa. The following day we returned to the Lake Louise ski area and spent another day further exploring the slopes before driving on to Kicking Horse for the main event.
We arrived at Kicking Horse around dinner time and discovered that we’d managed to book great accommodation and cooked ourselves some dinner before meeting up for drinks with some of the other Aussies that had also decided to make the trip for a couple of drinks ahead of the first day’s skiing.
Day 1 of the ski adventure involved getting Emily and Thomas booked into ski lessons (Sam and Michael weren’t interested for different reasons) before heading up to the top of the mountain. We managed to fit in a quick green run off the chair (the gondola goes all the way to the top of the mountain) before dropping them off and heading off on their own.
Caroline, Michael, Sam and I all trooped aboard the Gondola at that point to find out what the top of the mountain looked like. Before we even got there, I was seriously considering that I may not have packed enough underwear for the trip and wondering how the hell I was going to find my way back down again. And the whole time that we’re travelling up over rocky faced cliffs and seemingly near vertical ski runs, Michael is busy intoning that they’re not bad, he thinks it looks boring. Yes, I was ready to slap him, especially where some of the runs that were looking particularly scary to me were only blue!
Eventually we did make it to the top and had just started to make our way down the easiest path we could (much to Michael’s disgust) when my phone rang. It was one of the other Aussies ringing to say that Thomas’ teacher had just brought him back because he wasn’t feeling well. Crap. That meant that we needed to get down there as fast as we could (oh shit) to look after him. It was quickly agreed that Sam and I would take the safest way down whilst Caroline and Michael would seek the quickest way down. In the end, they beat us by about 10 minutes. The safe way takes a bloody long time as it involves skiing along a road that cuts back and forth across the face of the mountain (though Sam and I did jump onto a blue run for part of the way once we found one I thought was ok – and I loved it)!
At that point, I took Thomas back to the chalet (his stomach wasn’t feeling well) and Sam also took the opportunity to get out of skiing for the rest of the day. I jumped on the chair at the bottom of the mountain and skied the easier parts whilst I waited for an opportunity to catch up with Caroline and Michael. I then managed one more trip up the Gondola with them in the afternoon just in time to ski back down to pick up Emily from her lesson. There wasn’t much skiing for us after that and I took the chance to go into town and buy some food for dinner. Oh, and some fireworks too!
Day 2 was going to be a bit more adventurous and I was really keen to get out of the chalet early and ski on my own for a bit before meeting up with everyone else. In the end though, I took Thomas and Sam with me as they were going to have a bit of an easy early ski (which didn’t turn out to be early at all. Caroline went to drop Emily off for her lesson and I took Sam and Thomas up the chair). We’d managed a single run down the hill when Thomas decided that he actually wasn’t really up to it and so it was back to the chalet for us. On the way, the Griswalds came to visit and I ended up with a buggered calf (see here for more on that one), laid out in the chalet with ice for company. I’d made it all the way to 10:30am on day 2 (insert several four letter words here).
At that point, Caroline had her own little bit of the Griswalds in trying to get some pain killers for me. 2 hours after I called her to ask her to pick some up, she’d been back and forth and up and down the mountain, in and out of first aid stations and eventually one of the other Aussies showed up at the door with some of her left over medication. Caroline never did actually get me any despite her best efforts *sigh*. I snuggled down with my misery until everyone had finished skiing at which point I grabbed the Bundy and got to tell my terribly lame story over and over again, whilst listening to all the tales of the mountain.
Day 3 (New Year’s Eve) started with a much appreciated, if less than sober New Year’s phone call from Jason and Bel at 8am Canada time and then a whole lot of sitting on my arse whilst everyone had fun.
Lunch had been planned to be had by most of the adults at the Eagle’s Eye Restaurant and I decided that I’d join them just to break up the monotony. Michael came Caroline and I and after hobbling my way all the way to the Gondola, at least the rest of the afternoon was spent sitting down. And by the rest of the afternoon, I mean all of it, because the service was so bloody slow that it was all gone by the time that I finally got my steak. When they tell you it will take 18 minutes to cook a steak that someone has ordered well done, you expect a decent piece of beef. When, after 2 hours, they deliver a piece thin enough that it may well have come from Ethiopia’s last cattle ranch one is forced to wonder exactly what it was they were doing?! Needless to say, I left unimpressed and didn’t tip (a virtual crime over here).
The back end of the day was of course time to party, though it appeared that all the skiing had worn people out somewhat. I tried to get a head start on the drinking (given that was a sport I was still able to compete in) but in the end it didn’t really look like any one else was up for a particularly big night and I backed off so that we could head down to the revelry that was being hosted by the resort. It kicked off with a big air demo a little way up the mountain. That’s great if you can walk up a mountain but I was on one a bit legs at this point. I looked at stopping further down, but it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t going to see much and so struggled all the way up as far as I could manage until there was something to see. Turns out that as an organized event goes, it wasn’t particularly and so things were very slow.
Standing on one leg in the snow on a 30 degree for a show that was at best sporadic in its efforts was getting painful and at the point that my body indicated that it might like to engage in a little exploding-arse hilarity, I decided to make a quick exit. The only problem with this was that I couldn’t walk down the hill. I simply couldn’t safely place the foot of my left leg in a manner that would enable me to take a step. Instead, I hobbled across the face of the hill to where there was no one below me and sat upon said arse and slid myself down. Then I had to limp around until I could find a dunny (of course it was downstairs!) all the while indulging in some severe butt clenching and more than one prayer to the God of clean underwear to preserve me long enough to get there.
I’m happy to report that I made it with a nano-second to spare and that having had its little Griswaldian laugh at my expense, my body didn’t feel inclined to betray me at all after that.
We returned to the Chalet then to set about the drinking part of the festivities (and to watch the resort’s fireworks from a warm spot) and at 10:30 decided it was time indulge in a little pyromania of our own. Having told Bob (a fireman) that I’d managed to locate and purchase the happy little incendiaries, he had raced into town to buy some of his own, doubling our stock and our fun. In all, we fired off about 200 rockets to the great delight of everyone involved. My only disappointment was in not getting to ignite them myself (I couldn’t run away!).
We settled in again beyond that to drink out the remainder of 2009, much of which was accompanied by my renditions of various Rolf Harris Classics. Yes, true to form the Court of King Caractacus marched by in its entirety at about 11:53pm.
Day 4. I sat again and it sucked. But at the end of the day, I was invited to join Bob and Nancy for a hot tub and a couple of drinks (Caroline came in after skiing). After that we decided that we’d go for dinner at the local Scottish pub (of course – and a fabulous meal it was) and along the way I found that I could actually almost stand and walk. So much so, that by the time I got home, I decided that perhaps I might even ski the following day (which was of course the day we were leaving).
I woke early, jumped in the hot tub to loosen up the offending calf and escaped out the door on my own soon after the lift started hoiking people up the hill. Nervous and scared that I was about to do something really really stupid, I clambered aboard and very very cautiously skied back down again. I survived. I spent most of the rest of the morning riding the chair and skiing slowly back down the hill again. It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned my skiing at Kicking Horse and I didn’t make it back up the Gondola, but I did at least manage just a little more skiing whilst my truly amazing wife crammed all our shit back into the car before joining me with the kids for 2 final runs. Then of course it was time to drive.
We travelled to Edmonton and bunked down before the final part of the trip. In an effort to stave off the return just that bit longer, we went to the movies, Thomas and I so see Avatar and the rest to see the Squeakel.
It was only as we drove off that I realized I’d left my gloves in the cinema and only when we’d made it to the very start of the highway that I realized I’d left my book in the hotel. Both were recovered and finally at about 4pm we got out of Edmonton for real (we did lunch at Ikea too of course).
The return drive seemed inexorable, with plenty of traffic, roads in fair condition and just the occasional butt monkey slowing everyone down. By 9pm we were back in the Mac, lamenting the fact that all too soon, the holiday was over.
Things started very well for us, having successfully hosted Christmas lunch for the 3rd year running. This year our guests were the Handicotts and Gauthier’s along with their parents and we had a fabulous lunch that stretched through to dinner and a bit of pool before ending relatively early. We took the opportunity to pack for our ski trip and planned for an early get away on Boxing day as we were to drive all the way to Banff, a leisurely drive of some 840kms.
Against all departure traditions, we actually managed to cram into the well packed car and head off relatively on time and with a single stop for food and petrol around Edmonton, managed to complete the exercise in about 9 and a half hours with no flat tires, no vomit nor any other unforeseen adventures. Whew!
We bunked down for the night in Banff and then headed on to Lake Louise so that we could ski there as a family (for the first time since our very first Canadian Skiing experience way back in Novmber of ’07). Caroline and I had given each other new skis for Christmas, so we were very keen to get up the mountain and explore. We had a great day skiing, balancing Michael’s complaints that everything was too easy and that he only wanted to do a double black diamond, with Emily’s terror of any icy patches and my reluctance to push myself too far beyond the nice flat spots that I enjoy so much. (I don’t mind a black run, but really dislike a bumpy run).
In the end, we covered a fair bit of the mountain and as legs grew tired and children less willing late in the day, I sent Caroline and Michael off to explore some less sane areas of the mountain and I took Emily, Thomas and Sam on some friendly parts. We finished up for the day and went to Lake Louise where we had a room booked for the night (no, not at that hotel). We did stop by there though to check out a bit of ice carving before heading back to our nearby (much less luxurious) hotel where we enjoyed a nice dinner and spa. The following day we returned to the Lake Louise ski area and spent another day further exploring the slopes before driving on to Kicking Horse for the main event.
We arrived at Kicking Horse around dinner time and discovered that we’d managed to book great accommodation and cooked ourselves some dinner before meeting up for drinks with some of the other Aussies that had also decided to make the trip for a couple of drinks ahead of the first day’s skiing.
Day 1 of the ski adventure involved getting Emily and Thomas booked into ski lessons (Sam and Michael weren’t interested for different reasons) before heading up to the top of the mountain. We managed to fit in a quick green run off the chair (the gondola goes all the way to the top of the mountain) before dropping them off and heading off on their own.
Caroline, Michael, Sam and I all trooped aboard the Gondola at that point to find out what the top of the mountain looked like. Before we even got there, I was seriously considering that I may not have packed enough underwear for the trip and wondering how the hell I was going to find my way back down again. And the whole time that we’re travelling up over rocky faced cliffs and seemingly near vertical ski runs, Michael is busy intoning that they’re not bad, he thinks it looks boring. Yes, I was ready to slap him, especially where some of the runs that were looking particularly scary to me were only blue!
Eventually we did make it to the top and had just started to make our way down the easiest path we could (much to Michael’s disgust) when my phone rang. It was one of the other Aussies ringing to say that Thomas’ teacher had just brought him back because he wasn’t feeling well. Crap. That meant that we needed to get down there as fast as we could (oh shit) to look after him. It was quickly agreed that Sam and I would take the safest way down whilst Caroline and Michael would seek the quickest way down. In the end, they beat us by about 10 minutes. The safe way takes a bloody long time as it involves skiing along a road that cuts back and forth across the face of the mountain (though Sam and I did jump onto a blue run for part of the way once we found one I thought was ok – and I loved it)!
At that point, I took Thomas back to the chalet (his stomach wasn’t feeling well) and Sam also took the opportunity to get out of skiing for the rest of the day. I jumped on the chair at the bottom of the mountain and skied the easier parts whilst I waited for an opportunity to catch up with Caroline and Michael. I then managed one more trip up the Gondola with them in the afternoon just in time to ski back down to pick up Emily from her lesson. There wasn’t much skiing for us after that and I took the chance to go into town and buy some food for dinner. Oh, and some fireworks too!
Day 2 was going to be a bit more adventurous and I was really keen to get out of the chalet early and ski on my own for a bit before meeting up with everyone else. In the end though, I took Thomas and Sam with me as they were going to have a bit of an easy early ski (which didn’t turn out to be early at all. Caroline went to drop Emily off for her lesson and I took Sam and Thomas up the chair). We’d managed a single run down the hill when Thomas decided that he actually wasn’t really up to it and so it was back to the chalet for us. On the way, the Griswalds came to visit and I ended up with a buggered calf (see here for more on that one), laid out in the chalet with ice for company. I’d made it all the way to 10:30am on day 2 (insert several four letter words here).
At that point, Caroline had her own little bit of the Griswalds in trying to get some pain killers for me. 2 hours after I called her to ask her to pick some up, she’d been back and forth and up and down the mountain, in and out of first aid stations and eventually one of the other Aussies showed up at the door with some of her left over medication. Caroline never did actually get me any despite her best efforts *sigh*. I snuggled down with my misery until everyone had finished skiing at which point I grabbed the Bundy and got to tell my terribly lame story over and over again, whilst listening to all the tales of the mountain.
Day 3 (New Year’s Eve) started with a much appreciated, if less than sober New Year’s phone call from Jason and Bel at 8am Canada time and then a whole lot of sitting on my arse whilst everyone had fun.
Lunch had been planned to be had by most of the adults at the Eagle’s Eye Restaurant and I decided that I’d join them just to break up the monotony. Michael came Caroline and I and after hobbling my way all the way to the Gondola, at least the rest of the afternoon was spent sitting down. And by the rest of the afternoon, I mean all of it, because the service was so bloody slow that it was all gone by the time that I finally got my steak. When they tell you it will take 18 minutes to cook a steak that someone has ordered well done, you expect a decent piece of beef. When, after 2 hours, they deliver a piece thin enough that it may well have come from Ethiopia’s last cattle ranch one is forced to wonder exactly what it was they were doing?! Needless to say, I left unimpressed and didn’t tip (a virtual crime over here).
The back end of the day was of course time to party, though it appeared that all the skiing had worn people out somewhat. I tried to get a head start on the drinking (given that was a sport I was still able to compete in) but in the end it didn’t really look like any one else was up for a particularly big night and I backed off so that we could head down to the revelry that was being hosted by the resort. It kicked off with a big air demo a little way up the mountain. That’s great if you can walk up a mountain but I was on one a bit legs at this point. I looked at stopping further down, but it quickly became apparent that I wasn’t going to see much and so struggled all the way up as far as I could manage until there was something to see. Turns out that as an organized event goes, it wasn’t particularly and so things were very slow.
Standing on one leg in the snow on a 30 degree for a show that was at best sporadic in its efforts was getting painful and at the point that my body indicated that it might like to engage in a little exploding-arse hilarity, I decided to make a quick exit. The only problem with this was that I couldn’t walk down the hill. I simply couldn’t safely place the foot of my left leg in a manner that would enable me to take a step. Instead, I hobbled across the face of the hill to where there was no one below me and sat upon said arse and slid myself down. Then I had to limp around until I could find a dunny (of course it was downstairs!) all the while indulging in some severe butt clenching and more than one prayer to the God of clean underwear to preserve me long enough to get there.
I’m happy to report that I made it with a nano-second to spare and that having had its little Griswaldian laugh at my expense, my body didn’t feel inclined to betray me at all after that.
We returned to the Chalet then to set about the drinking part of the festivities (and to watch the resort’s fireworks from a warm spot) and at 10:30 decided it was time indulge in a little pyromania of our own. Having told Bob (a fireman) that I’d managed to locate and purchase the happy little incendiaries, he had raced into town to buy some of his own, doubling our stock and our fun. In all, we fired off about 200 rockets to the great delight of everyone involved. My only disappointment was in not getting to ignite them myself (I couldn’t run away!).
We settled in again beyond that to drink out the remainder of 2009, much of which was accompanied by my renditions of various Rolf Harris Classics. Yes, true to form the Court of King Caractacus marched by in its entirety at about 11:53pm.
Day 4. I sat again and it sucked. But at the end of the day, I was invited to join Bob and Nancy for a hot tub and a couple of drinks (Caroline came in after skiing). After that we decided that we’d go for dinner at the local Scottish pub (of course – and a fabulous meal it was) and along the way I found that I could actually almost stand and walk. So much so, that by the time I got home, I decided that perhaps I might even ski the following day (which was of course the day we were leaving).
I woke early, jumped in the hot tub to loosen up the offending calf and escaped out the door on my own soon after the lift started hoiking people up the hill. Nervous and scared that I was about to do something really really stupid, I clambered aboard and very very cautiously skied back down again. I survived. I spent most of the rest of the morning riding the chair and skiing slowly back down the hill again. It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned my skiing at Kicking Horse and I didn’t make it back up the Gondola, but I did at least manage just a little more skiing whilst my truly amazing wife crammed all our shit back into the car before joining me with the kids for 2 final runs. Then of course it was time to drive.
We travelled to Edmonton and bunked down before the final part of the trip. In an effort to stave off the return just that bit longer, we went to the movies, Thomas and I so see Avatar and the rest to see the Squeakel.
It was only as we drove off that I realized I’d left my gloves in the cinema and only when we’d made it to the very start of the highway that I realized I’d left my book in the hotel. Both were recovered and finally at about 4pm we got out of Edmonton for real (we did lunch at Ikea too of course).
The return drive seemed inexorable, with plenty of traffic, roads in fair condition and just the occasional butt monkey slowing everyone down. By 9pm we were back in the Mac, lamenting the fact that all too soon, the holiday was over.
Being that guy
No matter which of the big mountains that we’ve skied at over the last 2 years, there’s always been someone that you see sitting in the lodge with a pair of crutches and some part of their body either in plaster or being rested. They can't ski, they have been abandoned by their friends and have to suffer through a ski holiday without any of the skiing that makes it so good.
One of these stories is true:
Having followed Caroline and Michael onto a run that they assured me I was ‘going to love’ I found myself attempting to navigate rather steep blue run (intermediate) full of moguls. Now I’m all up for blue runs, just not the bumpy, full of mogul runs. I like them wide and open so that I can turn with speed at will, and in control. As I made my way across the moguls, looking for an opportune moment to turn, I managed to go a bit further than intended and found myself not on the bumpy blue run, but the adjacent stupidly steep black diamond, through the trees, over the rocks run. There was no way I wanted to go down that way, so instead, I turned back toward the blue run, only to find that I’d discovered a 2 metre drop off a rock face. Being the incredibly accomplished skier that I am, I managed to get my considerable body weight forward, landing the tips of the skis straight into the snow below. As I went over the front of them, the bindings held just a little bit too long and i felt my calf muscle tear just before the boot popped free. I rolled head over heels down the mountain to lie in agony as people first laughed at the sight and then came down concerned when they realised that i wasn’t getting up.
At that point I was lucky enough to lie in the snow for a considerable amount of time until one of those lovely blokes in a red jacket came along with a sled and give me a somewhat terrifying ride all the way back to the first aid station where they happily told me that my skiing holiday was now going to be a sit on your arse and watch tv kind of holiday.
--------------------
Thomas wasn’t feeling well and had had enough skiing after a single run from half way down the mountain. Sam was happy to keep skiing with me for a bit longer, but we had to get Thomas back to the Chalet first, so we went up the lift to the midpoint and skied our way back through the woods. We took a fun little run between the trees and paused where it joined the roadway. Thomas and Sam made their way down to the road, but I was a little more cautious, having significantly longer skis and needing to get down a short 1 metre incline that dropped into a gutter and back up to the road again. Not to mention that I needed to turn 180 degrees as I did so. It wasn't a big ask, nothing that I hadn't done the day before when taking the same route.
Only this time, things didn't quite go according to plan. Somehow in making the turn and getting down the short drop, things just didn't work. I ended up backwards and toppling over and in doing so, managed to snag the tail of my left ski, which stopped. Now the bindings are supposed to give way and at some point, they actually do. Unfortunately for me, my left calf gave way before the binding popped and set my boot free of the ski ... too late. I screamed, Sam and Thomas came to see what was wrong.
I could stand, I even managed to get my ski back on and make my way extremely cautiously the last 200m or so to the chalet, where with my calf throbbing in pain, I sent Sam off for ice and called Caroline to let her know that my holiday now sucked and by the way, could she please bring some pain killers.
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I was that guy
One of these stories is true:
Having followed Caroline and Michael onto a run that they assured me I was ‘going to love’ I found myself attempting to navigate rather steep blue run (intermediate) full of moguls. Now I’m all up for blue runs, just not the bumpy, full of mogul runs. I like them wide and open so that I can turn with speed at will, and in control. As I made my way across the moguls, looking for an opportune moment to turn, I managed to go a bit further than intended and found myself not on the bumpy blue run, but the adjacent stupidly steep black diamond, through the trees, over the rocks run. There was no way I wanted to go down that way, so instead, I turned back toward the blue run, only to find that I’d discovered a 2 metre drop off a rock face. Being the incredibly accomplished skier that I am, I managed to get my considerable body weight forward, landing the tips of the skis straight into the snow below. As I went over the front of them, the bindings held just a little bit too long and i felt my calf muscle tear just before the boot popped free. I rolled head over heels down the mountain to lie in agony as people first laughed at the sight and then came down concerned when they realised that i wasn’t getting up.
At that point I was lucky enough to lie in the snow for a considerable amount of time until one of those lovely blokes in a red jacket came along with a sled and give me a somewhat terrifying ride all the way back to the first aid station where they happily told me that my skiing holiday was now going to be a sit on your arse and watch tv kind of holiday.
--------------------
Thomas wasn’t feeling well and had had enough skiing after a single run from half way down the mountain. Sam was happy to keep skiing with me for a bit longer, but we had to get Thomas back to the Chalet first, so we went up the lift to the midpoint and skied our way back through the woods. We took a fun little run between the trees and paused where it joined the roadway. Thomas and Sam made their way down to the road, but I was a little more cautious, having significantly longer skis and needing to get down a short 1 metre incline that dropped into a gutter and back up to the road again. Not to mention that I needed to turn 180 degrees as I did so. It wasn't a big ask, nothing that I hadn't done the day before when taking the same route.
Only this time, things didn't quite go according to plan. Somehow in making the turn and getting down the short drop, things just didn't work. I ended up backwards and toppling over and in doing so, managed to snag the tail of my left ski, which stopped. Now the bindings are supposed to give way and at some point, they actually do. Unfortunately for me, my left calf gave way before the binding popped and set my boot free of the ski ... too late. I screamed, Sam and Thomas came to see what was wrong.
I could stand, I even managed to get my ski back on and make my way extremely cautiously the last 200m or so to the chalet, where with my calf throbbing in pain, I sent Sam off for ice and called Caroline to let her know that my holiday now sucked and by the way, could she please bring some pain killers.
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I was that guy
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