Lower Olympic run, Whistler

So I can ski, now.

I skied once before, when I was eleven, and I was truly awful, so when, over reading week, me and a couple of friends decided to head up to Whistler, I assumed I’d be awful again. I actually assumed that I would have forgotten everything, and that I’d fall over ten thousand times over the three days me and my friend Chris got.

Turns out skiing is a bit like riding a bike, and I, though I have never in my life been good at a sport, was pretty good at skiing. I was sort of top of the class. Which is insane. Turned out that I was really good at the parts of skiing that involved being on skies and hurtling down hills (at a very slow speed; I am still learning), but still really really bad at the parts of skiing that didn’t involve being on skies. Like walking in ski boots (which are the worst inventions ever) and not falling over when I was supposed to be standing still.

It was a trade I was willing to take, though. Whistler is such an expensive but wonderful place, and unlike anywhere else I’ve visited so far in North America.