French bliss as girls have fun on the slopes
Activity holidays are not just for the sporty
IT’S 9am, blazing hot, and I’m sprinting after a sprightly Frenchman twice my age.
Actually, it’d be more truthful to say I’m panting like a geriatric dog and trailing behind him alongside 30 other women, dressed in a headache of neon.
My leggings are sticking to me, I’m steeling myself for this guy’s two-hour fitness class, and I finally understand why sweatbands were invented. Oh, and I’m on holiday. A women’s fitness holiday, to be precise. If those seem like two things that shouldn’t go together, then think about how it first sounded to me, the person who gets a stitch climbing a flight of stairs.
But when I hear French ski resort Les 2 Alpes is holding its annual women’s fitness week in July, I’m intrigued. The seven-day programme offers the opportunity to try out an array of activities, from yoga and muscle awakening to the more adrenalinepumping likes of mountain biking, within a mostly female environment.
My friends guffaw when they learn I’ll forego my usual French holiday pastimes – inhaling pastries and quaffing rose wine by the boxload – in favour of sportier pursuits.
But I’m the one laughing when I arrive at Les 2 Alpes.
Situated 1650m above sea level at the point where the Northern and Southern Alps meet, this charming resort is home to one of Europe’s largest skiable glaciers and the scenery is beyond breathtaking.
So much so, I find myself smiling serenely during the aforementioned early morning workout – it’s impossible not to when your backdrop is a snow-capped mountain flanked by green hills, thick with conifers.
My grin takes on a more manic complexion a few hours later, though, while being kitted out for a stint of mountain biking.
Naive visions of pootling around the village with a baguette in a basket give way to the stark reality of the sport when I’m handed shin pads, gloves, a helmet and bodysuit.
Bike in tow, I take a chairlift with a group of women to the top of the Vallee Blanche. We opt for the green downhill trail (the easiest) and our instructor, Nancy, explains the basic rules. Namely, stand upright on the pedals at all times, always have your fingers poised on the brakes – and never look down. At first, I’m terrified. It’s like learning to ride a bike all over again, wobbly and uncertain, except with the constant worry I’ll career over the edge and plummet into the abyss.
But after 20 minutes of gentle encouragement I hit my stride, ease up on the brakes and pick up speed, tearing round hairpin bends with abandon. It’s utterly exhilarating.
Emboldened by my survival, I try my hand at another new activity the next day, skiing. An altitude of 3600m means it’s possible to ski here all year round.
In summer, most skiers and snowboarders head up at 7am to make the most of the powder before it turns to slush around lunchtime. Beginners like me can hire equipment and take lessons – it’s surprisingly easier than it looks.
It’s surreal and magical, zig-zagging down a gentle slope and drinking up views of Mont Blanc, then hopping in a lift, journeying down the mountain and sunbathing by the pool (After a change of attire, I might add). Unlike a normal holiday where
lounging like a slug can quite easily become my default taken-for-granted position, I savour these little pockets of relaxation.
Lying on the grass beside a lake on the outskirts of the village, breathing in the Alpine air, I feel refreshed and energised. And hungry.
Fortunately, there are loads of fantastic eateries. Head to Crepes A Gogo for delicious sweet and savoury filled crepes.
On a Tuesday night, bring your own food to the open-air barbecue in the village, organised by the tourist board, who provide free drinks and entertainment.
If you’re feeling fancy, dine at the Michelinstarred Hotel Chalet Mounier, where you’ll find the likes of crab salad and shade fish with roast tomato and aubergine caviar on the menu. Not your typical apres-ski fare, though if that’s what you’re craving, raclette and cheese fondue are offered most places.
Next is tandem paragliding. “I need you to run off this cliff – big, long strides,” says my instructor as he straps me into the harness.
“Do not stop running. Even when you don’t feel like there is ground beneath your feet. Keep running.”
So I run. Big, long strides, right off the edge of the cliff, until my legs are cycling a phantom bike mid-air.
Then I fly, over trees, through valleys, swooping and soaring like a bird, albeit one in a bright, blue anorak.
I’ve never pushed myself so far outside my comfort zone within such a short space of time, but I can’t overstate how rewarding it is.
And guess what? I didn’t even get a stitch.