Thought I'd tell you a little about what it's like to do the thee-day women's ski clinic at Alta Lodge in Utah. (don't worry, even if you don't care about ski-ing there's something for everyone in the blog today, from poppin' pants to chimichurra steak.)
Me on first day arriving at Alta Lodge
Alta is family-owned, ski-only, no snowboarders ( the last hold-out in the US. ) Incredibly low key, very duct tape on the boots - if you want fur-lined valets and corduroy runs, that's Deer Valley over the hill.
There's been little snow in the West this year but Alta's still a good bet at 11,500 ft and 75 inch base ( no I don't know what that means either, but you have realky funky dreams.)
The morning started out with SNOGA at 9.15am ( Im not a morning person so I never made breakfast). Some visuals:
Skiing is a lot like life, from what i've learned from Instructor Jen:
-everything about skiing is totally counterintuitive. "Job security" says Instructor Jen.
- we want to lean back and use the $50 part of our skis. But diving for danger, leaning forward and using the $500 front of our skis is actually the safest, funnest way.
-you want to pick the Barry Manilow moguls but sometimes you have to do the Kiss ones.
- A further tip from an old ski friend - best way to get forward over the mountain is "push the bush." ( Gosh, the old blog is veering in a coarser direction this month...)
No drinking in Utah, but there's the grandly named Sitzmark Club ( an attic under the eaves) where you're permitted to have a wee tipple.
My lovely friend Carson had a birthday. Ill be catching her up in two weeks when I turn 53. If i look like Carson Il'll be thrilled.
All the gggrlfriends.
The food here is just too good; a panoramic buffet breakfast, bison, alaskan fish, local lamb, the best chimichurra steak Ive ever had and hand-made choccy decadences and sorbets.
We played a game called Clutter, where you guess famous people. I hate games but this was a goody.
Ski pants are a bellwether - mine remain perilously tight (Why? Why? Why me) There is the decision whether to say no to burger and sweet spud fries and home-made pie and ice-cream or just soldier on, or spring for a new pair of pants. On one run, my pants button popped, my pants started sliding down and my chewing gum flew into my hair. Yard sale. (Technical term for spill)
That night someone loaned me a belt and all is good. Friends, there is peril everywhere on these mountains, but sometimes the easiest solutions are the best.
What havecyou been up to? Hope all popping pants are averted in your day and homemade mango sorbet and brownies arrive with nightfall?