The Times Magazine 7SPINAL COLUMN
MELANIE REID
he Winter Olympics were to
blame. That alchemy of snow,
white light, clattering skis,
speed and mountains stirs an
almost Pavlovian response
in recreational skiers. Sitting
in their armchairs, their leg
muscles start twitching,
their hands reach to adjust
imaginary goggles.
Deliberately, I stopped watching skiing
many years ago, but last week I was aimless
in front of the telly and it nabbed me. Sucked
me back, instantaneously, to the years when
a gang of us shared wild, fun, happy holidays,
imprinting the kind of ridiculous memories
you still unwrap when you’re 80.
Before I knew it I had tears pouring down my
face, indulging the exquisite ache of lost youth,
friendship, physical function. I tried to quell
the self-pity. “Have you got a cold?” asked my
husband. “I just miss skiing,” I snottered.
Dave looked at me, startled, unsure what
to say in a situation where there’s nothing to
say. “What about me? I missed it completely.
I’d love to have been a member of the ski set.”
He ponders an image of himself in his head.
“I would have looked great. Like Kirk Douglas
in The Heroes of Telemark. And the après-ski,
posing on the terrace, the exclusivity. I was
made for that.”
He didn’t actually fancy speeding downhill.
Didn’t even fancy weaving down slowly and
carefully. “I would only want to ski if I didn’thave to be taught. I’d look like a pillock going
down like a ten-year-old. I would have to be
instantly competent and stylish.”
I put him right about ten-year-olds, who ski
twice as fast as adults because they know no
fear. I tell him that if I were fit I’d take him
in a heartbeat. Everyone should experience
a winter holiday in the mountains once.
I start showing him jackets, because it’s
a sure seduction tool. For posing in the sun
with the vin chaud, there are Russian oligarch
fashion numbers bearing labels like Moncler.
He’d never be cold again but he might, er, be
mutton dressed as lamb. He much preferred
a waterproof down jacket from Arc’teryx,
which I explained was only £975 more
expensive than something that did much
the same job from Regatta.
And then I tried to tell him – gently,
because this was a fun fantasy – of the reality
of being an adult learner. His pride could be
a problem. There are several immutable rules
about skiing, and one is that everyone spends
time comically flailing around before they get
their balance.
Initial humiliation is built in. Everyone will
at least once overbalance on a tow and fall,
wiping out other skiers ascending the hill
behind them, and everyone will at least once
fall getting on or off a chairlift, causing the lift
to be stopped. Dark glasses help shield your
embarrassment, but it’s painful. In every way.
He looked horrified. He’s not good at being
bad at stuff, unless it’s menial, and then hedoesn’t care. There was the time we went
white water rafting in Colorado with my
brother and Dave decided a) his hair would get
wet, and b) it was undignified. Or when I tried
to get him into horse riding. He loved the
image and the gear but the reality of being
high up on something with a mind of its own
was not for him. The fact he fell off – my fault
entirely – didn’t help.
But then introducing your partner to your
sport is always perilous. I’d played tennis
since early childhood and introduced my first
husband to it. Within 12 months he could beat
me comprehensively. I never forgave him.
For a few years now I’ve dreamt of an
extended family ski holiday. Nieces, nephews,
a big Alpine chalet. Having fun to remember
at 80 even if it means having no money left.
Besides, it’ll be a bloody miracle if I make 80.
Even 75 would be amazing.
Could we? Is it remotely possible? Giant
disabled chalets do exist. Dave could be a
terrace lizard, thereby avoiding even ski boots.
I could recline alongside and be a “When I...”
club bore. Maybe even bear to sit-ski. Or he
and I could just ride up and down in the lifts
enjoying the view. Anything’s possible, really,
if you apply yourself. So I phoned my son, a
devoted skier. What’s he doing, March 2023?
Is he saint enough to contemplate it? n@Mel_ReidTimes
Melanie Reid is tetraplegic after breaking her
MURDO MACLEOD neck and back in a riding accident in April 2010
T
‘I watched the
Winter Olympics
in tears. “I just
miss skiing,”
I snottered’