Steep learning curve

Yesterday's plan was that today we would get up early (7am) be on the road quickly (7.30 am) and be skiing by 10am.  

That being the case, it was probably not wise to stay up very late drinking wine.

The morning was not without issues.  

Regardless, we were finally there, found a good ski hire shop and dealt with all that.  Off up the gondola (Sant Lary, when I want to remember where we went) and onto the slopes. 

The day mostly was a repeated set of events.  Guided up a particular lift by Mr B, I would stand at the top of a windswept mountain looking in turn at all the routes down again.  "They're all too steep." I'd say firmly.  Mr B would roll his eyes, sigh heavily and just set off down the steepest.  The kids followed him, to certain death, with me behind deciding with every turn that actually it wasn't as steep as it looked.  The kids did remarkably well on these tricky and occasionally very icy reds.  Then at some innocuous piste-side where we had stopped to regroup, they would suddenly fall in a heap of skis and pain for no obvious reason.

I realised where they get it from when, skiing down to join Mr B at such a stop he appeared to be standing in a perfectly normal way one moment but then, after I glanced back to check for marauding boarders, suddenly he was on the ground in a heap of skis and pain himself.  

My own heap of skis and pain came on a lift.  CarbBoy somehow didn't made it and was dragged along under the lift for what felt like minutes and was, in fact, minutes.  Finally - after much shouting by me and Mr B using words that TallGirl later said were not as bad as some she's heard while I'm driving - they stopped the lift, by which time I was also being dragged along underneath.  All was well (really) until the operator pulled my ski off (CarbBoy and I were somewhat entangled) with more enthusiasm than was required, twisting my good knee in the process. At least he had the grace to admit that his two colleagues (hiding in the warm hut) could have been a bit quicker on the big red "stop" button.

The snow was not bad - some slopes were pretty icy though - and there was only a brief blizzard.  However the last lift of the day reminded me of pretty much everything I hate about ski holidays: I was so cold that I was having trouble feeling anything below my knees (which were in agony from the lift disaster and the re-emergence of an old skiing injury) and shoulders; it was so windy that the lift was swaying alarmingly and my hat was threatening to make a swift exit from my head, and a blizzard was making it increasingly difficult to see the ground*.  In fact, I think what I really like about skiing holidays is the holiday bit: the evening when you've started to thaw out a bit and have a reassuringly exhausted feeling and a mountain of pasta in your immediate future.  So, good that we have a proper ski holiday coming up soon, rather than this worthwhile but tiring day trip.

Home, pasta, hot shower, bed.

*The other thing I really hate is stairs in ski boots.  Normally the loos are down a huge flight of slippery metal stairs; today they were on ground level, but our restaurant table was upstairs.  Which made the lunchtime wine less advisable than would normally be the case.  The truly gorgeous waiter helped matters somewhat.