After I think 8 years and a half, I skied again for four days this holiday. It was 4 days of gentle skiing on very easy runs, not too many runs with a fair number of hot chocolates in mountain side cafes to rest and recover. There was none of the fast, aggressive black run skiing I used to love; but still, I skied.

The last years have been a roller coaster. From walking my Camino (1000km) in 2016 and the Three Capes (47km) in Tasmania in 2017, my walking and general physical abilities declined (600m a struggle) until Russia in 2018 stopped progression. It’s been a slow and irregular climb back from that point, with seemingly endless physio, exercises, setbacks, and challenges. I’m nowhere near where I was in 2016 for my Camino, but maybe I’m heading towards the Three Capes again.

The skiing itself is a symbol. Sure I love the crisp cold air, being in the mountains, pretty Alpine villages and the sheer physicality of being on the snow. However being able to control my right leg and arm, and manage to ski with the loads that puts in your thighs, was a significant goal and achievement for me.

Meeting a ski boot fitter who was a consummate professional, understanding the modifications he could make to my new ski boots to accomodate my right side weakness and foot drop, reinforced the value of skilled assistance and guidance.

Just happy to have been on skis and in the snow again.

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