When I was seven, I tried to learn how to ski. I really did try – valiantly! – but unfortunately I was defeated by the ski lift.
My mum had booked me a two-hour beginners ski lesson with a group of children and I spent the full 120 minutes trying to hoist myself up the slope on one of those lifts where you’re allegedly able to hold onto a strap and it guides you up the hill.
This did not happen for me. When we tried another chairlift – the proper, dignified sort that gives you a seat as you ascend – I did get to the top.
I then skied all the way down, my ski goggles filling up with tears, falling over multiple times and feeling scared, small and silly. It was excruciatingly embarrassing and just about put me off the whole thing.
Skiing is an unnatural thing for human beings to do – this is a stance I maintain to this day. And in adulthood, the divide between skiers and non-skiers is a big deal.
On one side of the divide are those like my boyfriend who are excellent skiers – he did a season in the French Alps and now likes to do all the fancy, difficult slopes, often off-piste. Most of his friends are proficient, if not terrific skiers who have been gifted with the grace of a gazelle.
On the other side are people like me, who, well, have not been gifted so much.
So when my boyfriend invited me on a ski holiday to Val Thorens with friends a couple of years ago, I had to sheepishly inform him that this would be my first proper time skiing as an adult, and that my track record was less than exemplary.
He eventually lured me there with promises of hot chocolates, apres-ski, card games and tobogganing. One of his friends agreed to come to lessons with me because the last time he tried to ski without training, he snapped his collar bone on the first attempt.
So this one guy and I went off to class each morning, stumbling about like Bambi using her legs for the first time. Thankfully, I did not meet my nemesis – the impossible gliding ski lift. I took the chairlift each time and it did wonders for my confidence.
We quite enjoyed our time. It took me a few days to work out how to stop properly (apparently it’s not supposed to involve sitting forcefully in the snow halfway down because you’re terrified), but once I’d mastered that, I had a mildly enjoyable time. Going down a slope by choice, rather than hopelessly falling over and sliding down against my will, became a real treat.
We felt left out and inferior, which is not exactly how you like to feel when you’re on holiday with your friends.
I obviously preferred eating melted cheese from a wheel and stuff like that, but I wasn’t entirely defeated by skiing.
It did affect our group dynamics, though. They can be really tricky to navigate. While we trundled off to beginner level skiing every morning, our exceedingly capable friends plotted their complicated routes, stopped for a picnic on the top of a mountain and return that evening, flushed and proud with their resplendent displays of athleticism.
My mate and I would come back to the cabin exhausted – physically from the act of pushing ourselves down a hill, and mentally from the strain of learning a new skill as an adult human being.
It was a daily knock to our self-esteem. We felt left out and inferior, which is not exactly how you like to feel when you’re on holiday with your friends.
So at this time of year, when sets of mates are slipping into neon ski suits and making the trip out to snow, I would plead with the capable skiers among you to be kind and gentle to your beginners.
Be tender and sweet and supportive. Turn up on the slopes and go at their pace for a bit, if you can.
Make sure you spend some time together, even if you’re astronomically better at coming down a mountain. It can be brutal, learning to do something new, and not just skiing – anytime we have to try a new skill in the company of others it can leave us feeling vulnerable.
So please, be patient and kind. Feed them well, praise them for small improvements, make sure they know they are included. My boyfriend and his friends did that quite well, to their credit.
I was quite proud of myself that trip, too. I was much better at skiing than anyone had expected, most of all me. I did not fight with any ski lifts. I consumed many hot, delicious things. I even made an appearance on the apres-ski dancefloor, which is tremendously out of character and somewhat excruciating (for my feet and my spirit).
There is joy in the tackling something totally new, as a grown woman. I’ll give skiing that: it is a nice feeling to be able to do it. The scenery is absolutely beautiful, that should also be said. That, and cheese seems to be the main food group in the Alps.
When the same group of people went on another ski holiday last year, I politely declined to attend. I had extremely important things to be doing, like not skiing, for example.
I wouldn’t rule out going again, but I’m also not in a desperate rush to go back. Seven-year-old Kate is just thrilled I made it to the top of a slope one time – that’s enough for me.
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