I get knocked down - but I get up again
Skiing novice Anne Sheridan falls in Switzerland on an adrenaline-fuelled winter holiday
THOUSANDS of metres up, looking down on the clouds in the Alps, I could finally see some attraction in adrenaline-filled sport, which had eluded me for nearly all of my adult life.
I could understand why surfers feel the urge to race into raging waters, face the elements and themselves head on.
I could appreciate the danger and nerves and apprehension, and the sheer thrill to take it on anyway. And do it over and over again.
Here was no different, where skiers are at one with nature, and at the same time charging against it, in a beautiful backdrop that is as close to God as one could be on earth.
It is almost heroic. And that was just the baby slopes.
I was hooked, and the sight of four year-olds whizzing past with much more ease, grace and athletic acumen did nothing to abate my newfound enthusiasm for a world I had just discovered.
Until recently, I had been a complete newcomer to skiing, and in fact, largely devoid of any athletic ability – or gear. And here I have to thank the Great Outdoors in Chatham Street for helping me out with what to wear and showing me how to fasten boots and all these fixtures and fittings.
Equipment stowed away in the hold, I was on my way. The slopes looked inviting, if a little scary, from the plane but when I touched down I was immediately won over, particularly by the stunning scenery on my hour-long train journey along the lake from Geneva to La Tzoumaz, a small village nestled in the Swiss Alps.
Primed to be the future hotspot in the Four Valleys, and just a stone’s throw from ultra-chic Verbier, La Tzoumaz is, as of yet, relatively undiscovered by the masses and that too is about to change.
Without sacrificing any five-star luxuries, while trimming off the top costs, La Tzoumaz is Verbier’s affordable, charming and quaint little sister.
I was spared being thrown down the slopes on our first day, enjoying instead the best of wine and a snowshoeing expedition to acquaint us with the mountains.
But I could not put my date with destiny off for ever, and the next day brought me before my instructor Caroline Vergères.
Now as well as being gorgeous, Caroline has the patience of a saint and helped me navigate my way in weighty ski boots.
If you want a mental picture, imagine Michelin woman walking on the moon. That’s me, not Caroline!
As I considered my predicament we were off on the lift, with a whoosh into the air. Below was a blanket of snow and a smattering of chalets with hot tubs on their balconies.
A quick demonstration at the foot of the slopes ensured we got a handle on the basics and the most essential of which is the snow plough, where the tips of one’s skis point inwards in order to slow down. Essential really for potentially saving your own life – and possibly others.
So far, so easy. As Caroline stayed with another beginner at the bottom, she advised me to head up the ‘carpet’ or conveyor belt to the top of the slope.
‘Just stay there and wait for me,’ she warned, gently. I turned around and waved with delight, beaming with the pride of a child taking their first steps – before the ultimate fall.
Soon, the so-called baby slopes didn’t look that miniature.
I hobbled off at the top, trying to avoid knocking down a small child with my skis, and was met by another instructor – not Caroline I might add – who, seeing the bottleneck of skiers building up, shouted at me to ‘Go, go.’
I attempted to move slightly down the slope and wait for Caroline, but the slope had other ideas and quickly took me with it.
I can’t quite say my life flashed before my eyes, but in a few terrifying seconds I took off diagonally across the mountain, limbs flailing, snowplough failing me utterly.
I may have let out a small scream. Thankfully no adults or children were harmed in the making of my first skiing disaster, but my ego took a bit of bruising.
Unable to launch myself off the ground, I waited for Caroline to come to my rescue and teach me another important life lesson – how to get up when you fall down.
Meanwhile, the more accomplished skiers in the group were dining out at La Vache.
This eaterie was developed by singer James Blunt and his associates, and among their midst was none other than Bear Grylls.
Conversations drip with starstudded name-dropping in the Alps, as Verbier is the winter playground of the rich and famous, courting the Beckhams, members of the British royal family, Diana Ross, and Richard Branson, to name but a few.
But I had cheese in mind and we gorged on some other delights in La Tzoumaz – hearty meals of raclette (melted cheese) and fondue (more melted cheese) with no complaint.
La Tzoumaz’s eateries are rustic establishments that pack a hearty punch.
But among the most exceptional, and certainly memorable, is the restaurant du Col de la Croix-de-
Coeur, which offers an awe-inspiring panorama between the Combins and the Mont Blanc in the south and the Bernese Alps in the north.
There is no escaping the cheese menu, but on la carte d’hiver was the most sensational wild mushroom risotto, while my companions dined on the ‘best steak of their lives’ cooked on a stone in front of their own eyes.
By day two, I had all but mastered the snowplough, thankfully, as the carpet on the next steeper slope literally veered off a cliff.
But there was no getting ahead of myself. Caroline only took my ski poles off me, despite my pleas. ‘They are holding you back. You don’t need them,’ she said, instructing me to use my knees to guide me in the desired direction, and veer from side to side so as not to pick up too much speed. I longed for the baby slopes. But no, there was one more challenge ahead – sledging down a black slope in Savoleyres.
The one carrot offered with the stick was at the foot of the mountain, an apres-ski chalet where we could toast our endeavours.
Fellow ski instructor Harald Imboden, another legend in a red ski suit, filmed the whole exhilarating episode on his phone as he skied alongside me and ahead to capture the moments. We even went off-piste! Over a hot beverage, Harold was kind enough to share all the videos and pictures with me.
The journey that I once feared was now one which I didn’t want to end.
‘You will feel alive,’ I was told in advance about skiing.
And in the most fleeting of truly memorable moments I genuinely did.