Splendid isolation on the slopes and walking free worth the fatigue

AFTER all the travel I could feel my body was exhausted.

Neurological fatigue was kicking in and all I wanted to do was sleep.

However, one of the best recipes I have found for fatigue is actually getting out and moving.

It is like a car battery – if the car sits stationary the battery dies and if you want to charge it, the best way is to drive the car.

This will be different for everyone – for some people that might just be standing outside to get some sunshine or it could be going for a run. But for me I don’t think skiing was going to be the best physical way to recharge after all my travelling as it was going to overload my body even more, but there was no way I was not going to ski.

After arriving back in Alpe d’Huez I only had two days left before the season closed and I expected it to be busy, but as I woke up on Saturday morning I found the slope I ski on was completely empty.

By the time I got my boots on and walked the short 30 metres from the shop to the first lift I was one of the first on the slopes.

And after four hours of non-stop skiing my body was feeling exhausted but my mind was feeling incredible, again my body quitting before my mind.

I could’ve skied all day to the very last lift mentally, but I knew my body would be in a state of shock and as Sunday was my birthday I had great intentions of making the first lift so I was happy with four hours.

I wasn’t quite on the first the lift on Sunday morning but I did get to ski fresh tracks down the slope to celebrate turning 46.

I couldn’t have wanted for anything else and again I thought it was going to be busy as this was the last day of the season. But for four hours I hardly saw another skier, it was just me – and the snow was perfect as the temperature had dropped. It felt like skiing in January.

The only thing I had to manage was my ego.

Every chairlift ride up I was having an internal discussion about trying to ski all the way to 5pm.

I knew realistically that was crazy but my ego kept telling me I could do it.

Eventually, after four hours of non-stop skiing and covering close to 60km I had to check my ego and tell myself, “David you have had an incredible two days it’s time to stop go back to the hotel and celebrate with a coffee.”

If you read last week’s column you will know I struggle to take that last run in case my tumour comes back and I never get the opportunity again.

This makes stopping extremely difficult and every run I would say, “OK, this is my last run.”

But finally my body made that decision for me and with that I had taken my last turn of the season, I paused before taking my skis off and prayed that I will be standing back here next year.

As the mountain and the resort was closing I discovered over the next few days, apart from a few locals, I was one of the only people in the resort.

There was a calm, almost deafening silence round the mountain – it resembled lockdown, but this time with the freedom to move. After a few days my body recovered from the skiing and I wanted to walk part of the mountain.

Walking can be a difficult thing for me, there are days where I can barely stand and others days I seem to find something that keeps me going, on this day if someone had told me I would walk to where I did on the mountain I would never have believed them.

I set off with no expectation, my only goal was to take one step at a time and enjoy every step, to look up see the mountains and just be.

Apart from a few local skiers who were climbing up to ski the empty runs I hardly saw anyone and before I knew it I’d reached the top of the middle station. To put this into perspective, when I was here in January celebrating seven weeks post-surgery, I told myself one day I want to walk to a restaurant that sits below the middle station.

I never thought that would be possible and here I was at the middle station overlooking the Alps with no one else on the mountain apart from a few workers and local skiers.

As I arrived back to the hotel I looked at my watch to see that I had been gone five hours. Five hours of walking? That can’t be possible, but somehow I managed it.

I also knew that there would be a price to pay for that and over the next few days I could barely leave my bed, but it was worth every second and every step.

I am also aware that hospital looms and now that the ski lifts are closed it is time for me to make my way home and to see the doctors that are keeping me alive. It is very hard to leave here but I know I can’t hide forever and that over the next few weeks there will be some very dark moments.

Paralympic gold medallist charts his recovery from spinal tumours