Nassfeld: exhaustion by ski

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Last week I headed off to the slopes to try my hand at skiing. I always thought I was a decent skier, meaning, I can put the skis on and go down the hill without falling. WRONG. Nikki fell at least 20 times in a period of 6 days and has the bruises to prove it, which, by the way, are of no normal size. One of them was the size of a tennis ball on my right calf. How I managed to pull that one out remains a mystery.

For the first 3 days, nobody saw the likes of Nikki after 9:00 PM. It wasn't because I was out binge drinking at pubs like usual. I was fast asleep, like a little huddula hush hush, and when I woke up at 7 in the morning, I felt like I still needed about 8 more hours of sleep. Why?

Well, every morning we had to wake up for breakfast at 8 and slam down as many Semmel as possible to get prepared for the day ahead. Then, we had to go down to the cellar, put our 20-pound skiboots on and haul our skis, poles and 20 pounds of clothing about a half a mile uphill. Mind you, with windchill it was as cold as -20 degrees celcius. Cold for a Californian.

By the end of the trek uphill, I was sweating, wanting to strip right there, but soon as I'd stop moving, the sweat would freeze and I'd be freezing again. And even though I had chapstick on, with the cold it seemed as if it had never even existed, and evaporated the second after application.

Anschnallen! Los! Then we skied down the hill, where we then had to cross the street, abschnallen, los! Take the skis off, cross the icy road where you could risk losing a tooth if you slipped, put the skis back on, and get on the janky babylift (which was essentially a plastic plate you slipped under your ass and off you go).

To make matters worse, I was placed in the crappiest group of skiers, who were all in the 3. Klasse (all 13 years old). I had to eventually come to terms with the fact that I'm never going to be as good as an Austrian at skiing...for god's sake, they are practically born with skis on their feet!

Anyway, over the course of 6 days I finally got the hang of skiing, carving, and going fast. It was pretty amazing. The last day it snowed so there was a nice powder cover and I went a swooshin' away down the slopes. Even though I had a bit of homesickness the first few days, by the last day I was wishing I had another week of schifoan. There's a great song by Wolfgang Ambros that is all about the wonders of skiing which became the theme of the week.

Then on Saturday, the day after I got back to Köflach, there was a Maturaball (sort of like prom, but not at all), where I danced till my toes were numb and stayed out until 6AM. By Sunday night, I didn't know if I was here or there, shocked by a week of fresh air and Bewegung followed by twirling and whirling to Austrian folk songs at a ball full of people dressed like kings and queens. Where the hell am I?

One thing is for sure: I'm enjoying myself, and that's all that matters.

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