Last weekend was quite monumental for me because I didn’t die. And, trust me, the odds were stacked against me. I had even prepared several significant texts (namely “Hey Simon, could you take our laundry down?” and “Mum, you win. You can have the cats”).
Not great, I admit, but it’s hard to be inventive when you’re busy not dying. Mostly, your brain just screams in a high-pitched voice. Like when you take a baby seal, dress it up to look like a pumpkin and make it watch Two and a Half Men. Or is that just me?
So anyway there I was, careening towards the edge of a steep, icy ravine and thinking about seals and about how I was going to get those texts out while skiing and trying to shut my brain up and the most incredible thing happened: I stopped. Like, before I fell and snapped all of my limbs into convenient pocket-sized pieces. Even though I was on skis and hadn’t strapped those to my feet in over half a decade. This is your chance to be impressed and also to hurl all kinds of insults at Mark (like, for example, “you giant-thumbed whoopsie, just what do you think you’re doing taking a crippled incompetent on an icy, narrow, ungroomed, steep, ten-kilometre red track!” I mean, whatever, I’m sure you can put it into your own words.)
So yeah, Mark tried to kill me. Unhappily for him I hadn’t lost all of my skiing know-how and in between whimpering, swearing and shitting my pants I managed to get to the bottom just fine, thank you. And that man who I had to push over the edge totally understood.
And that’s how we passed three awesome days in Austria’s Stubeier Glacier. It was magical.
Here’s proof:
1 comments:
P.S.
It was cold.
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