It is hard to take good photos in some conditions. Ditto skiing. I can’t really blame the weather though. We have been taking lessons at Golm.
Franz did his best. He spent two hours teaching me and spoke English in that endearing way Europeans do. Goot, look me. Centric. Knees bend. Bottom facing slope. Chest facing downhill. Look up. Tilt shoulder. Ski only with legs. Arms out wide. Need relax. Follow me please….
I watched the skiers gliding effortlessly down the slope, gracefully weaving their way down. God it looks easy when it is done well.
And then there was Mrs Gumby. Body rigid with the fear of shooting off the side of the mountain out of control. I might add that this is not a totally irrational fear. You know when you are lacking control. I am the girl that was a good runner at school. A good high jumper. Not too shabby at ballet. But the minute you put a stick of any sort in my hands it is like the co-ordination switch has been turned off. Tennis – forget it. Softball – you want me to hit that tiny little hard ball with this skinny little bat? Ski poles…. oh god. I can’t co-ordinate something on my feet and in my hands at the same time. Are you kidding me, Franz? Follow me please.
I’m sure you can see that this was all heading to a crash of spectacular proportions. I don’t fall quietly on a slope when no-one is around. I have to go cartwheeling down the hill, legs and bum in the air, past two large groups of stationary skiers, and then face the ultimate humiliation of having the kindergarten ski class swish past me with a minimum of fuss. One small saving grace was that Franz was not around to witness his student fail so miserably (I really deserve an F for that effort).
No, it was my husband who patiently helped me to my feet, dusted me off and encouraged me down to the bottom of the hill. I may have been crying behind my googles – who will ever know???