Skiing - la troisième ET la quatrième fois!!!! Incroyable.

Eh bien, mes amis, c'est vrai. C'est incroyable, mais vrai. J'ai fait du ski pour la troisième ET la quatrième fois et encore, je vis!

Well, my friends, it's true. It's unbelievable, but true. I went skiing for the third AND the fourth time, and still, I live! (At least I think that's what I said)

Saturday my alarm brought me from deep slumber at the appallingly early hour of 5:00 AM. I had been so anticipating this alarm going off early, that I literally jumped out of bed at 11:00 PM (after having slept for two hours already), and turned on the lights, afraid that I had overslept. Eventually I realized it was 11 PM, and thankfully was able to fall asleep again without much of a problem.

5:00 came around, and I was ready to go! After a satisfying breakfast of eggs, a fruit and granola raspberry yogurt parfait, toast, and some veggies, I bundled up in a great quantity of layers and went out into the deep darkness of the morning before dawn.

There is something terribly exciting about a rendez-vous at such an hour. The hushed voices, the darkness all around, the cars gathering, the furtive hustle and bustle of preparing to depart. The excitement of it was enough to keep me awake for about 2 minutes after pulling out of the school. Then it was back to sleep until we arrived at the slopes. 

After a few bumps and problems with location and snow blowing machines (I still haven't figured out exactly why they felt the need to use these machines, all things considered. Or rather all snow considered.) we were finally set up and ready to go. 

Sarah et moi, in the dark, ready to ski!

We started out with the longest lift of my entire life. Not that that's saying a ton, but I hear it was even long by the more experienced skiers' standards. It went on for what felt like an eternity. And it was spectacular. It was no longer black outside. The sky was a delicate porcelain soaring overhead. Mountain peaks protruded magically from a light purple fading to pink haze. I considered pinching myself as a standard way of verifying whether or not a situation is real or just a dream, but thought better of it since every exposed area of skin (and many covered areas as well) had gone quite numb in the frigid morning air, thus rendering pinching rather ineffective, whether it be in dream or reality.

Up and down and through and over the mountains we went. Across the valleys, thick with layers of unadulterated snow. Past the fir trees, their branches starkly dark underneath blankets of dusty snow. Near rock formations, piercing peaks of this legendary mountain range reaching high into the crack-of-dawn skies. A penetrating, omnipresent silence radiated up from the ground even as it rained down from the skies, surrounding us in every way on every side, broken only by our voices when we spoke, if we spoke.

It was the ride of a lifetime, and I relished every last second of it. You can view the pictures below, but sadly, they cannot do it justice. 

Now. As for the not quite as magical parts. I would like to note very clearly that the last time I had gone skiing, the blue mountain was terror beyond all terrors. Helpless to do anything else, it became necessary for me to slide down the mountain. So terrified was I that any sense of embarrassment in relation to the other professional skiers gliding effortlessly past me was utterly non-existent. 

So it was with some trepidation of the heart, perhaps more than just some, that I realized this fact: To get from point A to the desired point B where free breakfast was being served, there was only one path. And it was a blue path. In retrospect, I am not full of fear, but rather full of gratitude that it was just blue and not red or black as it very well could have been. But at that moment in time, it was certainly trepidation that permeated my trembling self. 

Mais, n'inquiète pas! But, do not worry! At least that's what I was repeatedly told by the two from our group that kindly stayed behind to ski directly in front of/behind me. And it is true that there was really no reason to fear. Later in the day, I would find that to my surprise, I truly was 100% capable of conquering these blue slopes. Pas de problem. 

The biggest thing that I remember about that fearful ride down the blue slope was that as I was (attempting to) zig zag back and forth down the mountain, I went directly into the snow bank rather than turning. I promptly fell. Not by any means a wipeout. I'm quite certain I meant to fall for the alternative was to go down the blasted hill and that surely was inconceivable to me at the moment. One of the French presumably employed by the ski resort had also been following us, and he kindly and most expertly showed me how to get myself out of the snow (actually that little lesson has been useful to me ever since). Once I got to the bottom of that slope, there was yet another chair lift, and I lost my ski pole while getting on. Not both, just one. But still. The same French skier had to retrieve it for me. This is the part of the story where the terror starts to fail to be a good substitute for embarrassment. It was, to be sure, slightly humiliating, especially since then when we were at the top of the mountain eating breakfast, I was continually trying to not bump into him while trying to not wonder too hard if he was telling the story of the American novice ski girl to his other French professional ski buddies.

But never fear! This experience did not put a damper on the rest of my day. There was no sunrise over Mont Blanc, because Mont Blanc was rather covered in clouds, but there was nonetheless beauty all around. Beauty like that I have never seen before. Snow drifts swooping up into majestic formations, mountains and mountains and piles of mountains all around on every side - completely surrounding, all encompassing mountains. To explain it is impossible, for even to go back to that place in my head and experience even a sliver of the wonder and beauty and awe is impossible.

But alas! I fear that this post must come in installments, for it is time to return to class! It is, no doubt, better given in installments anyways since it seems this post is already quite long and we've only covered maybe the first two hours of the third skiing outing...

Photos à grace d'Alyssa pour le plupart from the breakfast site: