Post gendarme skiing Wednesday, one of the directors invited me to ski with them Saturday. I thought it was a casual skiing day.
Wrong. It was with the "moniteurs" or the extremely competent skiers who graciously lead the sections of the gendarme ski classes, teaching all levels. The head of the ski school was teaching them how to teach.
Martine, the woman who a) speaks perfect English (a huge plus at 7am) and b) arranged for me to attend, brought her daughter. Her daughter is about to take the baccalaureate (or high school exit exam) in skiing and is going to Switzerland next year to teach skiing. This is the equivalent of an American high schooler going to ski school at Tahoe and then going off to Vail to teach skiing. She kindly skied with me all morning. I told her I'd be her project for the morning. She let me go on one blue and then decided we were doing all reds and some blacks. (The level of runs, categorized by color goes up from green to blue to red to black aka death). She taught me excellent tips that I was occasionally able to use, when I wasn't busy screaming "ah" or praying. Black in France is NOT the same as black in the US.
Then we had a huge, hearty lunch and the head ski instructor insisted I go with them in the afternoon. I warned him that despite having told the gendarme that I was excellent, I had realized post skiing in France that I should demote myself to beginner or "needs significant improvement". He laughed (mistakenly) and made me go with them. And soon learned the gravity of his mistake.
They went on reds and stopped every ten minutes to learn a new technique. I promised I'd be fine skiing along and reminded them constantly that I'd hold them back, but they kindly brought me along. They all ski flawlessly, but he was teaching them how to teach kids to perfect their skiing: from the direction of their shoulders to the position of their poles. They kindly waited for me every time, and, of course, I turned into the dummy for the afternoon. I did not properly position my poles or my shoulders. This is because I was trying not to die by somersaulting downhill in skis. The head instructor occasionally had me follow his path because he knew I wouldn't be able to carve a black diamond by myself, but, alas, I even failed at following the exact "traces" (or path) that he'd made.
All the "moniteurs" were incredibly gentle and gave me tips but one instructor was particularly encouraging. Mr. Black Diamond kept shouting me "Come on, Maggie!" and thought me capable of following them with they did their final run in formation, like synchronized swimmers but skiing. Luckily, I lost them. But that meant that they were all waiting for me at the end. I thought I pulled off my late arrival well, because little did they know that "Maggie" had just landed in a huge pile of snow. Except, of course, that I was half covered in snow. Mr. Black Diamond noticed and invited me to join his group when I am not needed with the little kids. Their new goal is that I achieve all my "flocons" or snowflakes by the end of term. French skiing lessons, check!
At the end of the evening, the lovely Martine drove me home and I went to the Bonneville basketball game. They are sponsored by McDonalds, which I've always found to be an ironic sponsor, but thank you corporate responsibility. The Bonneville team won but I can't remember the score, because I was distracted by the creature they have as a mascot. It could be a bear, or a wolf, or a dog. It dances very well. And it apparently raises enthusiasm! Interesting evening, to say the least.
I joined the Bonneville ski club, which skis every Sunday. Today we went to Saint Gervais, which is a massive resort composed of three mountains. It was another beautiful day in the Alpes!
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| Pras du Lys |
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| Moi! |
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