“You’re crazy!” stated Caroline the greengrocer brightly when I told her my winter sports adventure. A sensible reply since not so long ago I had been out on walking aids due to a joint operation. Acquaintances from my sister’s circle were even more worried: “How old are you? In your eighties? I don’t think this is a wise plan. You’ll take a tumble and get injured.” My elder brother Andrew, aged 86, chose it was wiser not to tell a soul.
An Lifelong Wish
For at least two decades I held a secret desire to undertake a final winter sports adventure. A final fix of clear skies, chilly air and the excitement that follows ending up unharmed at the end of a snowy run. I was never much good, and hadn’t skied for decades, but that was irrelevant. As an octogenarian, I felt compelled to check if my body could manage. Should I succeed, how about inviting my sibling Kate, part of our elderly ladies’ circle who encourage each other to participate in weekly runs? It then occurred to me that, in our youth, my brother had accompanied me on the first time I went skiing. That was 67 years ago, but Andrew used to be quite good, so he got an invitation as well. A companion named Penny, who is surprisingly spry (67, so she says) that she doesn’t really count, was given permission to join and venture out with the elders and practise her German. We all made an effort to get as fit as possible, but skiing was a distant memory for over forty years.
Selecting the Resort
The Tirol town of Seefeld, close to Innsbruck, was where we decided to go, as it has many snowy pastimes – provided we endured our 120-minute tutorial on the opening day (admittedly, was all the downhill skiing we had planned) – and is blissfully lacking in post-skiing parties. It draws in family groups rather than partying youngsters, and is characteristically Austrian, with traditional bell towers and alpine-style homes. Our accommodation was the cozy, independently owned a local hotel and we tried various eateries nightly.
“It’s known as Kaiserwetter,” said Janina, our guide when I remarked it seemed too good to be true at rising every day to cloudless skies, warm sun and abundant snowfall for early March.
We were all pretending just to be thrilled, completely unafraid, as we boarded a shuttle to the winter sports zone. It was full of young people and families carrying skis and glowing with vitality. I thought I caught the young man getting our ski gear showing skepticism at the situation.
I was sure I’d fall over immediately upon setting off. Yet I remained upright. Everyone managed to stay upright.
The instructor, Ulrich, who had been told we were older, smiled bravely as we trudged over. We chatted rather noisily, smiling too broadly, perhaps trying to postpone the point when we had to attach our boots to the skis. Privately, I was sure I’d take a spill the instant I began. Yet I didn’t. Everyone else stayed up too. Ulrich remained calm, allowing us sufficient time at every part of the tutorial to become more confident.
Modern Skiing Advances
Modern skis are much easier to manage, I discovered – more compact, lighter weight with curved tips – than the bulky, extended planks I recalled from the sixties that frequently caused me to slip from the lift. We understood we wouldn’t be permitted on a lift of any sort, so thought we’d have to laboriously herringbone up the hill and ski down, taking spills along the way. It worked like that in the fifties. However, we found a marvelous modern invention, a “travelator”, or automated track, that transported us easily to the summit of the easy learning hill, which was crowded with daring youngsters. No other grown-ups were present.
Two hours later, we remained upright throughout, had each executed reasonable wedge turns and even an attempt at parallel skiing. We were overjoyed. “It was truly wonderful!” exclaimed Andrew, who tends to understate.
Additional Adventures
Could we have managed a entire week of winter sports? Possibly, but the variety of activities available in Seefeld was more attractive. There were hikes around various lakes, public transport allowing visits to incredibly scenic towns, and the “winter hike to the Hämmermoosalm, a 4.6-kilometer hike with toboggan return”, as the brochure nonchalantly explained.
Being familiar with winter sports, we two understood tobogganing. You run behind, pushing the sled, then jump aboard and speed downward on your front at paces matching fast vehicles. Janina provided comfort. No cause for concern: we’d sit on the sled and guide it using our feet. However, we were nervous. Andrew decided it wasn’t for him but we others persevered.
A man in a scarlet onesie slid past yelling back about Kate.
During my childhood it had been tiring pulling our family’s DIY toboggan up Gold Hill common in the English county in our wintry youth, and now in my eighties it was tiring dragging a reduced-weight toboggan uphill in thin mountain air (Hämmermoosalm, a classic mountain lodge and farmstead, is at 1,410 metres) for about three miles. I trailed the others, complaining quietly about being too old for this. {The glühwein and Gulaschsuppe|The mulled wine and goulash soup|The warm
