Whatever Comes Next Count Me Out

I looked out of the window. Snow fell. It reached down into the garden and the driveway of the semi I rented. A car crackled over the frozen slush and stopped. I picked up the newspaper and saw a headline on the power of positive thinking. I wasn’t into new age ideas but it made me wonder whether I could stop the snow falling by thinking about the sun. At least thinking about the sun made me feel warmer.

The car door slammed. The back door opened and my heartily annoying house mate walked into the kitchen. He brushed snow off his shoulders.

“Have you seen the forecast?”

I tried to keep melting snow off the newspaper.

“Of course.”

“The cold spell’s here for the weekend.”

I put my newspaper down and looked out of the window. The snow was blowing around and the light was yellow as though the sun was going to show through any minute.

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Derren.”

“How about a skiing trip tomorrow?”

“Not if you paid me.”

Derren slapped a well-read library book on the worktop.

“Take a look at this. I collected it in my lunch hour.”

I peered at the title, ‘How to Ski’.

“No, definitely not.”

“Oh come on. You only get one chance in life, so seize it. Seize the moment. Live a little.”

“Not skiing, anything but skiing.”

“Scared?”

“Of course not, but-”

“But nothing.”

There were one hundred and twenty hairpin bends on the drive up to the Cairngorms in Aviemore, Scotland’s renowned ski centre. Derren counted them out loud like an excited five year old. It was a long way to go when you’ve never skied before, but I seized the moment to escape another weekend in that cold rented dump of a house.

As I guessed, the forecast was wrong. Rain fell on the snow and the sun came out to melt it some more. I didn’t know anything about skiing, but I did know that rain and sun equalled no skiing.
I opened the book and read up on the essentials: ‘How to Slow Down’ and ‘How to Stop’. The book was all about skiing in perfect conditions, not about skiing in rain and blazing sun.

“Shouldn’t there be powdery stuff?”

Derren just smiled at the sun like he was pleased to see it. Either that or he was just plain thick. I think it was the latter. He leaned forward and drove faster.

“You’re too negative. You should try positive thinking. It’s going to be brilliant.”

“So you can really influence the weather with your positive thinking, Derren?”

“I’m telling you it’s going to be brilliant.”

Aviemore turned out to be empty on account of the lack of proper snow. No one else believed the forecast but Derren didn’t care. He headed for the first ski hire and peered at the row of shining skis.

“Let’s keep looking.”

“Why?”

“It’s the first one up.”

“So.”

“So it’s going to be the most expensive.”

We set off down miles of slate footpaths to find the cheapest set of skis to hire. The last place we checked was a panelled shack. There was a hand-written sign on the door with well-chewed skis lying around. A man wearing a money-belt came out of the shed. Derren picked out two sets of skis.

“These are the ones.”

I looked at the hard-bitten edges.

“These must be the worst skis in Aviemore. What did they do, ski over rocks?”

But Derren just smiled.

“Discount for two?”

Derren haggled a while, and then he handed over the notes. The man counted the notes, stuffed them in his money belt and slammed the door shut.

The beginners’ slope was empty on account of the warming weather. It was the size of a football field. I looked further up the mountain. A few crazy people were heading down the ice at their terminal velocity. But Derren wasn’t looking at them. He was pulling the skis out of the back of the car.

“There isn’t any proper snow, Derren. What are we going to do, Derren, walk on water?”

“Have confidence. What did I say about positive thinking?”

“I’m confident it’s not a good idea. Positive thinking just isn't working. Look, whatever good idea comes round next, Derren, count me out.”

I collected my skis and put my feet inside the boots. They were like concrete blocks. I turned and toppled backwards.

“It shouldn’t be this difficult.”

But Derren had his boots fixed onto his skis.

“Nothing to it.”

“Don’t let me hold you back, Derren.”

My skis wanted to set off on their own. I sat on them and clipped the boots in. I was wearing denim and a bomber jacket. I felt the cold through the denim and the jacket was shipping rain too. I had no hope of getting anywhere on a pair of skis. Then something dawned on me.

“We’ve no poles, Derren.”

But Derren set off. He dug in like a maestro, leaning hard, making a noise like a knife on burnt toast. At the bottom, he angled the ski tips, and appeared tall and vertical out of a wave of ice spray. A cloud of breath rose above him. His face was red. He punched the air and stepped out of the skis. I couldn’t believe it. Lack of proper snow and ski poles was no problem for Derren and his positive thinking.

“What’s stopping you?”

I adjusted the clip on my boots, took a deep breath and set off. I slithered in a straight line. I tried digging in. I tried flapping my arms. I tried rolling over. I went straight past Derren. I hit the paling fence at the end of the beginners’ slope.

The breath was knocked out of me. One ski twisted and so did my knee. Whatever worked for Derren, it didn’t work for me. My leg was numb.

I extricated myself from the paling fence and climbed back up the rocky path alongside the beginners’ slope dragging my dead leg, tangling with the skis and slipping on the ice.

An hour later, I reached the car park. Derren was waiting in the car.

“What happened to you?”

I eased the giant boots off.

“What do you think happened to me?”

Derren started the car.

“Well, I had a marvellous time. I kept looking out for you at the end of each run, but you were nowhere so I just carried on. It’s great. I did an intermediate slope too.”

“You never skied before?”

“I’m just lucky. Get in.”

I climbed in and slammed the door.

“But you skied without poles.”

“As I said, lucky.”

“That’s ridiculous. I could have gone over the edge. No tuition, no proper skis. They were no good. Look at me. You knew that didn’t you? You knew what would happen?”

“I can assure you, I have never put on a pair of skis in my life until today.”

“You should have come to this hell hole on your own. Discount for two? That’s what it was all about wasn’t it, saving money?”

Derren held up his hands.

“I’m sorry. Forget the money.”

“Here’s your money.”

“Keep it.”

I screwed up the notes, and flung them in his face. They bounced off his forehead, and landed in the foot well. He looked down at the unfolding notes.

I hadn’t planned on losing my temper. I turned away from Derren. I looked out at the high peak. Crazy people were still heading down the impossible slope careening between rocks, their arms flailing, their ski poles rotating in the air like tiny broken waterwheels. I wasn’t desperate to emulate them. I saw no chance of winning through, of taking risks and coming out the other side, walking tall amongst my fellow man.

“Fuck it.”

“Have you quite finished?”

The wind fussed outside the car.

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll get back shall we?”

“Fine.”

That summer Derren tried hang-gliding. He’d never been hang-gliding before. The weather had been perfect, but at 30 feet he stalled it, slipping backwards through the air trying to turn it, hauling to bring it round but only succeeding in fighting it all the way down to the ground.