I went on my first ski trip. Avoiding any form of physical exercise my entire life, going on a holiday with the sole purpose of doing sport always seemed absurd to me. Let alone a sport that you have to do in the cold, in snow and on a mountain.
Can we just admit already that snow’s basically ice with a better pr? So I never was one of those kids who came to school after the Easter holiday with their sunglasses tanned on their face, looking like a twat. I just never got the whole ski thing.
But then I got the chance to go on a free holiday in the Alps, and just like any time the supermarket is handing out samples of the latest absurdly flavoured potato chip, my broke ass can’t say no to free stuff. Determined to find out why some of my friends are so damn excited about this thing where you slide downhill on a slippery surface with a very high rate of breaking multiple limbs, I decided to go undercover with the winter sport afficionados and check it all out.
I took up snowboarding, which means that I fell on my ass every 5 seconds. The tattoo on my hip is now surrounded by bruises making it look like a drunk guy did an aquarel on my skin and my arms are hurting so much typing this blog post was a hassle. But I’ll admit, those 6 seconds I succeed in keep my balance and slide downhill - just long enough to imagine myself being cool - are pretty fun. Too bad that’s only like a small percentage of the time you spend with your snowboard. The rest of the time you’re just walking around with a board that’s so heavy I truly believe my left arm is now longer and you’re falling awkwardly of the same skilift you just saw a bunch of five-year olds take. Also, you spend a lot of time with snow in your underwear.
But hé, nobody can say that I didn’t give this whole mountain thing a try. I went for the full-blown winter holiday experience. If there’s a list of things you have to do on a ski trip, I can safely say I’ve now checked off every box. And that includes falling on my face, getting spooked by skiiers swooping centimeters of my left ear, the drinking of the Jägerbomb, eating mountain specialities that clearly are invented by hungover people, dancing on the après-ski and the après-après-ski. I even made out with my snowboard teacher on a weird-ass fluo party. Jup, I was a regular ski trip cliché.
I found out that skiing is quite an ugly thing. The whole ski culture seemed to be based around the concept of unattractiveness. From the village filled with ugly wooden chalets with tasteles interiors and latent Christmas decorations (it’s April folks), up to the ski outfits that make you look like a 60s astronaut. The biggest hits on après-ski’s are those songs that just should never have been made and Jägermeister isn’t a real drink, it’s cough syrop. And you don’t go around taking dafalgans and sticking bandages on your face when you don’t need it, do you? And I don’t think I would smell the difference between my ski socks when I take them out my boots and the scent of raclette.
But the partying is endless, tanning on a terrace on a mountain is pretty awesome and luckily for me, the snowboard teacher was still far from ugly in the morning.