Finger of Doom! ‘The Slalom Problem’ – Part 6.

Captains log star date 040320231646. Location unknown, in the vicinity of Pendle Hill, Deepest Darkest Lancashire, still smelling of the burning of Wise Womens’ Flesh!

I had to get up stupid early [for me], 6 am. Jump in the Feisty and blast over to the land of Clither of  Oe.

There were strange beings afoot, with long colourful shoes, silly hats and long sticks dangling from their be-gloved hands…

It was the last day of the Winter League and I had been asked to join Stu, known famously as The Silent One.

Stu is a trainer from Rossendale Ski Racing Club and he has been helping me get into the racing. This was the second time he got me on a team.

We met up along with Martin and Barry [from a previous blog] to race in the infamous Under 99 Race Team [that is no joke btw, the U99 is an actual class!] ‘Oval the Hill’, representing the Wirral Ski Team ‘Oval Racers’. Barry and I, already veterans of ‘Oval the Hill’,  having raced together [and won absolutely nothing whatsoever] a few weeks ago.

It was an 0800 start for practice. I only put two runs in because the last run ‘felt ok’. Also, I wanted to see if I could keep wax [wax I put onto the base of my skis with my own fair hands] would remain there until the end of the racing.

So, two practice runs done, we were signed up for six races with our team of four. Eight runs in total.

Off we go.

The first race we skied well. Apart from The Boulder, a ski teacher from Rossendale, who I was racing against. The Boulder rolled down the hill with such force, that rather than focus on what I was doing, I bumped along dumbstruck, watching The Boulder blast everything in its path. Including me. The Boulder did what he always did and ‘Obliterated’.

Race #1 we lost.

Race #2 – Martin, Barry and myself had a pep talk. The Silent One [who is a ski race coach] said absolutely nothing, keeping firmly on his chest our racing bib which we assumed meant The Silent One would be skiing first. [To be fair he is way faster than the rest of us].

‘What place do you want to run?’. All my anxiety and nervousness, all my deep-down ragged personality surged up, and out, whilst The Silent One just looked on, bemused.

Martin went second. I went third. Barry went last.

Shouting at Barry as he sped over the line, I was overcome by a welling up of something I have never experienced before.

It was the feeling of elation. That deep Well Spring, the True Meaning of Life.

We won!!

Cocky, another pep talk [as The Silent One looked on], we actually skied way better.

As Martin zoomed over the line with his arms all over the place [a bit of a flapper!] I set off, ‘anticipating the start beep’ as The Silent One [who broke his lasting oath of deepest silence] be-spoke to me earlier.

MISTAKE #1!

In slow motion I set off for the first gate. Am going a bit wide as Martin advised. But as I approach the gate is that a kerfuffle I hear? I must not be distracted! Ski on! But in the deepest recess of my mind Something Was Wrong.

It was only when I got to the end of my run I found out –  I jumped the gate. Even though we technically won by a million miles [I could have set off a few seconds later and we would still have won] I had JUMPED THE GATE!

‘Oval the Hill, You Are DISQUALIFED!’

Loss #2.

Head low, I walked the walk of shame. ‘We all do it’ Martin came over to console. ‘It’s true’, dreamed Barry.

I felt bad. Sorrow of the deepest of sort. I would be banished. Forever…

The high of our previous win gone. As elusive as a clean carpet on a Sunday morning…

More wins allude us.

People far faster, of higher skills passed us by like we were a row of stood up timber.

Apart from the 2^nd to last race, where it was so close, exhilaration. An actual race!

Bliss point #2.

But on the last run, we were knocked out of the park like a bunch of lightweight skittles by skiers of far more brilliance than we will ever achiveve in our mortal lives.

It was all over.

Before we left, The Silent One drifted over to me as if his feet were not doing the walking, like some kind of God, hovering above me in his long black cape [A Dryrobe]. He slowly lifted his finger, turning it towards me, pointing that gnarliest of fingers directly at me.

Without moving his lips, I heard the inner voice of The Silent One inside my head.

‘You made us lose, John L Matthews. YOU. MADE. US. LOSE!’.

Stu’s finger was still pointing at me, as this feeling of dread lingered over me. As if forever.

It was…

THE FINGER OF DOOM!

***

Thanks for listening! That’s all folks!

Tune in next week for another exciting episode of:

‘THE SLALOM PROBLEM!’