I felt yesterday’s antics immediately when I swung my legs out of bed.
Not injured (fortunately). Just heavy and stiff. The sort of legs where you walk to the bathroom extremely questionably. Needless to say, my knees continue to be a freaking mess.
I stood there for a bit wondering if today was a “take it easy” day.
Then I looked outside. Complete bluebird.
So that idea lasted about five seconds.
I went for it.
By the time I reached the top of the hill to Planpraz, I was cooked. But whilst deciding whether to abandon ship, I spotted the coffee van. It appeared gloriously – like some sort of mirage.
I must have ignored it countless times in the past, but today I grabbed a flat white and stood there in the sun trying to convince my body to work. Holy crap, one of the best coffees of my life!
It is amazing what caffeine and mountain views can talk you into.
By the time the cup was empty I was psyched. I rushed to the lifts before the latest busload of skiers could beat me to it.
First lift up, that light, that cold morning air, everyone internally itching to hit the slopes.
You could tell it was going to be good.
And it was.
They had worked the pistes hard overnight. Corduroy still crisp, edges biting properly, board running clean.
I did that thing where you tell yourself you will warm up gently and then immediately point. Whoops!
A few laps turned into a lot of laps.
No exploring. No backcountry missions. Just back up, back down, repeat. Until the legs remembered how wrecked they were!
I think I hit Cornu almost a dozen times in an hour… some sort of record maybe?
I love mornings like this because everything works. You’re not fighting the surface, you are not hunting for grip, you are just drawing turns and letting the mountain do its thing.
It makes average riders feel decent and decent riders feel like heroes.
(I am absolutely in the first group these days).
By late morning the sun started winning.
Soft patches appeared, then piles, then proper push-through-it spring snow (in February!). Speed dropped, effort went up and my thighs began negotiating a ceasefire.
Still fun though. Different fun.
Less charging, more picking lines, avoiding the worst of the chop, laughing when you get bucked a bit.
I called it when the quality tipped from “this is brilliant” to “I am about to ruin tomorrow as well”.
Could I have squeezed more out of it? Probably.
Did I need to? Not really.
It had already been a very good day.
It was also at this stage I realised that my BOA was stuck in the open position. No wonder I’d felt excessively sloppy towards the end (blame the gear boys, it’s always the gear).
Anyone have any experience with this? I’m normally a big fan of BOA but have heard horror stories from other instructors. Anyway, I guess the remainder of the afternoon will be spent looking for a local board shop to fix it.
I say that, but I’m currently writing this with a (second) pint in my favorite après spot.
I’d better end it there, otherwise I’ll need a third or fourth.
But so far Chamonix has delivered.
I’ll probably end up writing a definitive guide at some stage, but for now I’ll keep you updated via these rambling diary entries.
Hope your season is going well!
