Everyone says you never forget how to do some things.
Skiing seems to be one of those things.
I do not remember growing up in Vevey, Switzerland, and going skiing every single weekend to Portes du Soleil –border with France.
Nevertheless, my parents say I learned how to walk on the snow, on one of those weekends that always ended with fondue and wine in a warm chalet.
Over twenty years later, here I am, facing a black piste.
Can I do it?
I'm not completely sure about this.
To have some context, I've probably skied ten times as an adult, usually accompanied by my quite apprehensive family.
So here we are, with a group of new Californian friends, in beautiful Squaw, Lake Tahoe.
I'm not going to lie; I got pretty scared when I saw the steepness of the trail #nomorefilming
I guess you just have to face your fears.
And that's exactly what I did.
I adopted the `slow but safe´ philosophy -and jumped in.
Day 1 (first):
Played too hard, like a child.
Fell once, on the snow –flew like a ninja.
Felt quite embarrassed –but it was actually pretty fun.
Day 2 (last):
Quite hungover and swore from Day 1.
Every muscle of my body hurts.
Had to be more gentle with myself.
- I'm not as young and fearless as I used to be: every action has consequences, and my body is not as strong as it was the last time I skied –a couple of years ago
- Skiing at least once a year is a new personal resolution: I genuinely enjoy it
- I'm learning a lot from my new Californian friends, they all have different backgrounds and perspectives
- My parents were right since the beginning: the best way to end a ski day is with cheese and wine