I have only been skiing a handful of times, and it terrifies me and thrills me in equal measures. There are often bruises, sore feet and tears, but I keep going back. Why? Because pushing myself out of my comfort zone feels really, really good.
And because there is nothing quite like strapping planks of wood to your feet and propelling yourself down the nearest slippery slope in the hope you’ll make it to the bottom in one piece.
And for views like this.
But i’m getting ahead of myself.
Last month when my house was in utter chaos; half a kitchen fitted, workmen here there and everywhere, Mr B and I thought ‘sod it’. We packed a bag, jumped on a plane and took ourselves to Flaine – not the prettiest resort in France but it is high up with plenty of snow at the end of the season and close enough to the airport for a flying visit.
We arrived on a snowy day (hooray), got some supplies from the very small and expensive town and settled in ready for a big day of
terror fun the next day.
Our friends arrived late at night after long days at work and after a quick catch up and a sneaky glass of wine or two we headed to our beds to wake up to bright sunshine and a beautiful view of the beckoning mountains.
I’m not ashamed to admit that Mr B and I spent the whole of the first day on the nursery slopes finding our feet again after a couple of years away from the slopes. We went up the button lift, then cruised down our gentle slopes, picking up speed then scaring ourselves and slowing down again. I would have been quite happy to stay there but the next day our friends coaxed and cajoled us up the mountain.
And I am so glad they did. We spent the next couple of days on the resort’s easier blue runs and whilst many people will think me a real wimp, I pushed myself massively out of my comfort zone and felt a real sense of achievement as a result.
We had amazing weather with the snow glistening and sparkling in the sun. Don’t you think the mountains look like they’ve been dusted with icing sugar?
In the picture below the highest peak in the middle there is Mont Blanc. Wave hello.
We spent our lunches relaxing in sun loungers, drinking beer and eating ice cream – something I never thought I would do when the temperature was just above freezing.
And our evenings were spent gossiping, dreaming up ideas of how we could quit our day jobs and go on holiday for a living, and eating cheese. Lots of cheese.
There were no tears this trip, but many-a-shaky moment, several swear words and one or two slips but at the end I felt invigorated and very pleased with what I had achieved. I learned not only to ski, but that the things that really make you feel you have achieved something don’t come easily but require work, courage and a bit of pushing!