Skiing, which comes from the Nordic word “Skio” meaning “Leg-Torture”, is an ritual whereby the ankles are tightly bound to reduce stability; long and heavy blades are attached to the feet to remove any attempt at coordination; and sharpened poles are tied to the hands to inhibit balance. Once the subject is suitable prepared, they are then taken to one of the more inhospitable places of earth and thrown from off a mountain in a sacrifice to the Gods of Winter.
This poor sacrifice then tries, largely in vain, to stay upright while hurtling down the side of the mountain at horrifying speeds. Inevitably, due to the afore mentioned attached torture devices, the subject will then topple over and begin an excruciatingly painful plummet which has been said to resemble the final moments of a gravity stricken helicopter plowing into a snow bank.
Great care is always taken to make sure the blades and poles are secured as strongly as possible to the subjects limbs to ensure the don't come free during the catastrophic decent, but instead dig into the snow to twist and jerk the subjects limbs into unnatural positions. These blades and poles are also made out of some of the strongest materials known to man, far exceeding the tensile strength of human bone and sinew, again ensuring no reprieve for the chosen sacrifice.
Death comes slowly on the mountains. The freezing temperatures numb the body and reduce the chance of bleeding out, keeping the subject alive far longer then their wounds would normally allow. After coming to rest, typically face down, with legs twisted in opposite directions and arms pinned by poles trapped beneath their battered body, the subject slowly and painfully attempts to right themselves. This is of course a harrowing sight to behold and one born out of pure animal instinct for survival.
Upon righting themselves the subject is faced with a agonizing decision. Traveling back up the mountain, bound as they are, is absolutely impossible. Their only choices are to remain where the are, either to freeze to death or be devoured by the Snowcats that prowl the pistes; or to launch themselves down the mountain and begin the brutal decent anew. A painful death seems inevitable either way so most up to get it over with sooner rather then later.
Or at least that was what my first impressions of skiing were like.
The Swiss look upon skiing in a whole different light. Indeed, when asked, most Swiss can't even remember learning to ski, either because its ingrained into their genetic memory by force of natural selection, owing to the hostile environment quickly weeding out those unsuitable to such a dangerous practice; or more likely, because they are taught from such a young age and it is even part of their school curriculum.
Despite the pain and injury I did actually enjoy my first time skiing, and was almost getting the hang of it near the end, at least before fatigue, exhaustion and delirium took over. Its an incredible sport, and nothing beats the feeling of gliding over such a beautiful landscape at high speed, its about as close to flying as you can get, at least while still having two feet firmly* on the ground.
* In this instance "firmly" refers more to the tight binding of the ski-boots, and not so much to any inherent connection with the ground. In fact, in relative terms, I'm pretty sure my face spent just as much time firmly on the ground as my feet.
