We had dinner at Ur & Israel’s last night, take away mixed Asian dishes. It was filling. Another polar vortex had been forecast and it was -14°C after dinner when we braved the cold to sit in the hot tub and watch the full moon. I wanted to see if my hair would freeze. I hadn’t believed Ur when he explained the getting in was the worst; how could the ten seconds of walking from the cabana into the hot tub be that unpleasant? Turns out he was right. My teeth were chattering and I had never felt so chilled to the bone. It took at least five minutes to thaw. It was the perfect tonic for my sore skiing legs.
This morning at six I was not happy about getting up to get on a bus for an hour and a half to go skiing again. I cursed Dan for his enthusiasm. Why can’t we have a weekend at home, doing nothing?
Beaver Valley was good. The greens were gentle and the blues not at all terrifying – apart from one short steep blue slope that I slid sideways down. My lesson was basic techniques and left me feeling much more confident and finding another thing to focus on: keeping my hands in front, like a boxer, to keep my body facing front. I had been letting them dangle behind. At one stage the instructor, Sandy, stuck our poles into the snow and we skied down without them, holding our hands up to imaginary cameras.
Lunch took a while as the queue went to the door. I ate a hamburger. My stomach cramped having only had half a banana for breakfast. In the afternoon Dan and I skied down a green and a few blues together. Dan did a black slope a few times over and skied past me with ease, coming to a perfect hockey-stop that made me want to stab him with my pole. I’m still level 3 and he’s almost level 5.
On our last slope I was playing around wiggling my butt side to side to make swishing sounds and suddenly ended up minus both skis in my face with my Ventolin metered dose inhaler bruising my ribs. The Ski Patrol swiftly arrived to assist me. I was bruised and embarrassed. I had performed a yard sale.