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.
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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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