Hi Beginner here, Have I got all the right gear?

Don't worry, I'm not going to try and ski with them! I just want to show them that I'm prepared to have a go!

To get back on topic a bit - I know more or less what I need for clothes etc, as I've had to buy it all for the kids - however, unlike them, I wear specs, so what do I do about eyewear? Do goggles go on top?

HelenP3
Had my 1st trip at 59, just returned from my 3rd at St Anton and already planning next years. None of my friends ski so I managed/had to tag along with a group of mainly thirtysomething year olds. You can teach an old git new tricks ! - ENJOY.
Aitch

helenp3 wrote:

Oh no! I'm the wrong side of 50 - am I making a big mistake to think I can start now? :-o

Absolutely not. I was a couple of years younger on my first trip, but then have knees with more operations on them than, er, the bloke in the game Operation!

In fact, I did an article about being a mid-life skiing virgin, send me a private message if you think it might be of use.

Timeforabeer, you should post it up.. would probably interest quite a few folks! A load of first time skiers come and go here.

Unfortch Pablo it would be a massive file cos would be a scanned PDF... I'll have a go at stripping out the text though..

:thumbup: :thumbup:

OK here we go: I should probably have been doing something more productive this afternoon, but...


Before anyone gets too excited about the high-end nature of this piece, please bear in mind that it was written for a wealthy audience. Please also bear in mind that it’s from a first-timer’s perspective – rather than from someone who can go backward down the Hahnekamm on a pair of tea trays and may have forgotten what a bloody confusing thing this sliding down mountains can be . Thanks.

Copy starts:
IT’s like some yet-to-be-made Hollywood romcom in which the otherwise well-travelled, moderately well-off professional is found out to be, yes you guessed it, The 40-Year Old Ski Virgin. Oh, the potential for hilarity as our hero frets about wearing the wrong clothes to après-ski, breaks legs, is out-skied by four year olds. Well, the last certainly happened. But I can tell you non-skiers out there; it’s great. It’s easy (ish). It’s fun. It’s sexy.
We’re high above the Bond Street on Ice known as Courchevel 1850 and Alain, my mercurial and reassuringly grey-haired instructor, is starting with the basics. Like walking. There’s no chance of sliding, and unlike the time I first ice-skated and ignored my cousin’s imploring ‘it’s REALLY slippery, watch out,’ I did not immediately fall over when I put my skis on, nor slide uncontrollably down the mountain, or anything else catastrophic.
I make my sedate way across the flat snow ‘It’s a putting green on the Courchevel golf course in the summer,’ said Alain. I’m determined not to fall over on a putting green.
On to the moving pavement that brings you a couple of hundred feet up the hill, and I make my first acquaintance with Mr Snowplough. Then the turns. Then the stopping, and even some skis-in-parallel, real, proper downhill skiing. Woo hoo. All this is in the ZEN area, specially set aside for beginners and off-limits
to faster skiers.
Anyway, in short it takes an hour and a half before I fall over, which I find remarkable, having thought that I’d spend half my time planted head-first in snow. Just to prove that first one wasn’t a fluke, I do it again some thirty seconds later, at more speed and with some panache. Then we’re off down the Jardin Alpin, a green (easiest) run which nonetheless, given my super-beginner status, has one or two turns with interesting cambers and a pretty narrow track under a bridge. Alain hauls me back from the brink of disaster just once, and frankly I’m having a great time.
Up and down, up and down, up and down – that’s as in up the lifts and skiing down, not me falling over. It strikes me as faintly ridiculous that people should spend so much time and money, and that so much technical know-how and effort should be put into something so simple – sliding about on snow.
I never really got it before; I’d always wanted to go but never, like tidying out the cellar, quite got round to it. But by midday on a sparklingly clear January day in this heart-stoppingly beautiful countryside, I got it.
Courchevel 1850 has it all for skiers, in spades. For beginners, there are the ‘magic carpets’ on the learner slopes, some very gentle, long and wide green runs served by a hop-on, hop-off cable car, excellent for those whose nerve gives out. And avoiding any problems with button or chairlifts. It’s at one end of the biggest ski-able area in Europe, with good skiing until late in the season thanks to its high altitude and some of the most fabled shopping, eating and partying opportunities ever seen on a mountain. As a result, it attracts the cream of Europe’s social crop (as well as any other punter with enough cash).
I’m forever spoiled in that my first ski experience was centred on Le Byblos des Neiges, the winter-season outpost of the St Tropez Le Byblos. (NOTE: this was written in 2006. It’s now Palace des Neiges). Both have a reputation for sybaritic pleasures and unshakably brilliant service; at the ski lodge of the great and good (Roman Abramovich had just cleared his suite as I arrived) there’s the addition of a spa and a relaxing pool, a cigar lounge, a good restaurant and of course a frankly jaw-dropping wine list. The style is rustic-cabin-chic with aged-looking wood and some modern touches. The exterior architecture is brutalist French modern, though inside it’s elegantly comfortable. “It’s ugly outside, yes we can say that,” demurs the charming Antoine Chevanne, third generation keeper of the Byblos flame, “but inside it’s beautiful. I think that’s better than the other way round, don’t
you?”
There’s certainly plenty of exterior beauty on show. As to the conditions of their souls, I have no idea, but my, how those slim Russian girls like their Cristal, topped up with a big slug of cassis of course. Outside, we can see skiers coming in off the Jardin Alpin run and right down off a sidetrack to the doors of the hotel’s ski room; one stops to consider nature, and heed its call.
Later, I’m doing the same (trying to ski in gracefully in front of all the diners, not taking a pee) and then I chat to other skiers who talk about places where you have to get a bus to the slopes. Imagine.
Anyway my masseuse, who looks like a young Sophie Marceau, is waiting and
after that I’m off to snowmobile in the moonlight.
It’s day two – this is a tester after all, so I booked for only two nights – and there’s a tennis-ball sized bruise on my calf, made by my boot as a result of leaning backwards, and not forwards.
My abductors, adductors and hip flexors are tight as are some rarely-used muscles in my shoulders used to pole myself along flat snow. Tip of the day: download a workout program to do at home, or ask your gym to do one for you, six weeks before your first trip. Stretch a lot. In empty moments stand slightly forward, knees bent, and shift bodyweight from one foot to the other. For an hour. Today Alain has me all over the mountain, and we’ve moved on to the button lifts which I keep trying to stick behind me (chortles from Alain). Once up, it’s down and across the immaculate pistes, past more damnable children making like Franz Klammer, and eventually as we near lunch time I call it quits – we’re off to the legendary Cap Horn restaurant and I’m too much of a duffer to ski there so we need to catch the hotel’s omnipresent shuttle. The restaurant is a microcosm of Courchevel life. You can have an omelette and a glass of wine for a few euros. Or you can go mad. There are massive-format bottles of the world’s greatest wines, which the sommelier told me were bought by everyone, not just Russians (some Egyptians, he whispered, had the double-magnum of 2000 Latour).
We ate salad and some steak, drank some local Apremont white and some great Bordeaux called d:vin or something modern – very good. I tried to think of the bill in terms of francs, rather than euros, which made it moderate value. Midway though our lunch, first one six-foot beauty, then another, both wearing lynx coats, gave me the eye.
Being happily married and all, it wasn’t til this had happened a few times that I cottoned on they were modeling the furs, just in case you fancied a little conspicuous expenditure with your conspicuous expenditure. ‘How much?’ I asked, and clearly this had never happened before. Why would you
want to know the price, you just buy it, right? Anyway, €65,000 to you, says the martinet manageress, or (beaming) just €49,000 with the Cap Horn discount. I think I’d rather have a whole season at Le Byblos.


Box: But I’ve NOTHING to wear
You don’t need to spend hundreds on new kit if you’re a beginner, but you will need to be warm, dry and comfortable in some testing environments. Early in the season temperatures can drop to 30 below zero with wind chill, but on a sunny afternoon you’ll be sunbathing in a t-shirt.
Helly Hansen stepped into the gaping void marked ‘decent skiwear’ in my wardrobe and provided the perfect kit. Starting with a Lifa base layer of technical fibres for dealing with the inevitable perspiration, with merino wool for warmth, these are long johns for the 21st century. Next was a Suntory ‘component’ jacket - with a zip-out fleece layer ideal for differing conditions. Other essential features on this included a snow skirt to stop the white stuff shooting up into your jacket when you take a tumble, excellent water- proofing and breathability, and some considerable style. I chose yellow because I thought it only fair that everyone on the slope should be in no uncertainty that I was to be avoided. Some decent ski pants - the HH Commander also featured the ‘component’ style with a zip-out fleece track pant - are essential too, again with an internal ‘skirt’ you hook onto your boots. HH’s gloves were fantastic - double-fastenings, ultra light and warm, and with a nose-wipe panel by your thumb: classy.
This lot would set you back around £330; but if you do a little walking here and there or have a friend/
relative who skis they’ll see plenty of action, and taken care of they’ll last a few seasons. You can buy cheaper – check the discounters to see what last-season stock they have – or you can rent in the UK.
I bought specialist ski socks by Salomon (£13 a pair); don’t get them too bulky, the boots have the padding. The base layers, as you might imagine, are supposed to be like your underwear, but some folks like a thermal silk layer too. Depending on where you are, you’ll want some stylish but not over-the- top clothes for the evening; skiing, even at Le Byblos, is a casual affair, but do check if the restaurant at your hotel insists on a jacket for gentlemen; if so, avoid.
I bought a Buff (a wildly overpriced hoop of cloth you use in scarf/balaclava combos) and never used it, and some cheap goggles by Smith (£35) that I never used either - there was no wind or snow so sunglasses were a better option.
Rent the skis, boots and poles. It’s cheaper to pre-reserve online. Make sure the fitter gives you as much time and attention as you need; boots should be snug, but NEVER painful. For trudging around the resort, some girls go for variations on Moonboots or Mukluks, and Timberlands and more sporty alternatives like Salomon or Merrell boots are popular for both sexes.

Postscipt: I’ve now been to St Moritz, Les Gets, Chamonix for a few days each, and Val d’Isere and Courchevel (again) for a week each. I have no desire to be a black-run bandido but am happy cruising along on reds and am starting to learn the dark art of carving. I’ve invested in some nice Eider clothing, and the next step is my own boots. I’m hooked; but the moral of the story STILL is – ‘if I can do it…’

I think it is a cool article, one to direct some first timers too anyways!