24 December 2011

Piste off ski




I have a heightened sense of personal space. I know about this, have done for a while, I’m ok with it. I pretty much always accommodate for it in my day to day…but skiing I have noticed does not allow for this. It puts me, as a beginner, in a mild state of panic when I hear the crunch and swish of some competent snow gliding colourful cloth wearing thermal base layering born in an igloo type lines me up to for a glamorous and slick double shimmy and leg bend overtake in a majestic swoop and curve…damn him for being so fine and perfect…why doesn’t he realise I need the entire width of the piste to maintain a vertical posture and complete silence please.

Snowboarders although carrying the most offensive tag to most skiers just by their very being, to me provide a slightly…marginally…less annoying existence. As a snowboarder carves the piste he makes more of a scraping noise. You know it’s going to be a teenage boy or a middle aged man usually, neither group I seem to find a problem speaking my mind to, and that he will either be completely masterful and just an annoying tw*t or so past it you feel sorry for him anyway so feel like leaving him alone to cope with hair loss and middle aged spread is bad enough without exacerbating his misery.

Due to the difference in the approaching scrape noise pitch I can calibrate my internal “annoyometer”. A skier of the aforementioned proficiency scores highly enough to get me to stop in my unbalanced tracks and wait for him to pass in the manner of someone who is so vexed they cannot even muster the words to communicate that. Oh but he knows…I throw such a steely glare and pose stridently across the piste until he passes, ashamedly, that only someone with no sense of personal space who was so oblivious enough to me as to enjoy the beautiful sunny snow filled mountains couldn’t pick up on that aggressive body language.

The snowboarder receives a slightly different handling. Firstly as previously identified he will be at a disadvantage in life so to be so harsh seems unfair. And secondly it’s not his fault he choose that outfit, it seemed fashionable in the darkly illuminated shop where the bass was so fat he couldn’t feel his own heartbeat.
In these displays of piste disregard I try and simply carve around his random tracks sometimes it works, sometimes I have to completely change my planned turn, which affects my course enough to wobble me enough to get my knickers in monumental twist until either I or he give each other the death stare or fall over laughing.

As for lift queue etiquette or general orientation and traversing around resorts with huge bits of heavy moulded plastic to one’s feet it would seem that no-one adheres to normal social conduct and gliding into a complete stranger is perfectly acceptable. As are body parts that need airing/warming/deblistering or wageling along with general acceptance of erratic movement.

Apart from all of the above, I’m not quite sure what I expected, I mean what exactly is normal about flying down the side of a mountain on bits of carbon fibre dressed in colourful and ill-fitting clothing (note the camel toe, both male and female) with gay abandon to what is often a very demanding serious and responsible daily existence?

24 December 2011

Running with wolves part III




Husky sledding in the Arctic goes down as the purist, most life affirming, soul satisfying combinations of passions rolled into one titanic experience that any dog lover could have.
I know dogs, I know dogs well, I know all kinds of dogs, I know dogs alone, in pairs and in packs, Ive run with them all, old and young, for years, dogs love to run and I know why (see running with wolves part 1). Yesterday they embraced my company….yet again unconditionally….although this time I was not the pack leader. From this angle I saw through a different lens, they exposed their infra structure, their vunerable underbellies, their magical sense of eachothers strengths and weaknesess, precise timing, speed, intuitive reactions, convincingly infinite power combined with a spirit that seemed impossible to dilute.

I was just a bystander, someone to provide reason to charge like a well oiled machine powered by redbull through the Arctic, a resistive force to load the sleigh down. 5 dogs pull a wooden sleigh carrying up to 2 humans, one stands and “drives” the other sits. The Sami will tell you shifting your weight from one foot to the other whilst standing on the back of the sleigh will steer it. This is not true. The dogs are finely tuned to eachother and have done this a bazillion time before thus despite which way you lean they will drive you the way they know or want. Invariabley this can cause some confusion at the human end, it would seem processing instruction from human to dog is not something I am used to being challeneged on. However once I gave over to it I had the full richness of the experience. Being driven by the dogs was blissful. The serenity, power, concentration, hard breathing, warm exhalation vapour trails streaming from their mouths, frost forming on their whiskers and eyebrows, tails straight out behind them as they pull and pull and pull hard every single paw revolution being important as it cycles through and presses the earth and rebounds with elastic recoil over and over. Their bodies contort with the force they generate against the harnesses in a bid to tug harder and drive forwards with more acceleration. The pursuit for speed is relentless, even after 90mins they were wild with anticipation for the chance of more running.

They are lashed in an X formation, the Sami ties an old dog with a young one at the front and back of the pack. The middle warrior seemed the steady one, a little grouchy, but as much of a workhorse as the others. At the front were the smart strong dogs, leading the way, stopping first, intuitively leading us all despite my initial protestations. The rear two were pure energy balls, leaping a foot in the air and yapping the minute we stopped, their bodies were almost entirely bent as the speed their back legs were driving us forward was faster than the harness allowed their front legs and thus the entire pack to travel at….yet the never once eased up, its almost as if they didnt mind being practically folded in half for the slight glint of hope that the pace may increase whereby they would be perfectly placed to take up the slack and power forward at a pace that was much more preferable!

They were small, all of the dogs, but hard, at a guess not much more than 5% body fat and ranged in colour….I fell in love with the black and brown young one at the back of our pack, who I struggled to not cuddle back when he jumped up at me and rested his head in the crook of my arm. His ears were folded forwards and he drove like a beast, character over brimming….id have given him my last rolo but the Sami seemed very strict;)

24 December 2011

Running with wolves part II




Pepe and I have a new running partner in Ruby a 2 year old collie cross. Ruby is every bit the character filled ball of energy that you would expect from a young collie. Added to which she is also Pepe’s girlfriend, which is probably best discussed on a “inter-species canine loving” type blog rather than here but pertinent to the fact that he pretty much lets her get away with anything she wants. This usually involves high volumes of repeated barking and charging simultaneously at him in an attempt to engage him in play. Pepe is a wise old dog and pretty much knows what these runs entail….undue expenditure of energy is not in his game plan, god forbid he were to lark around and play with his young bit of fluff rather than missing a juicy sniff or pee stop.

Today for some reason was different.
Ruby was a delight for both Pepe and I….she fell into a perfect trot pace from the outset. When the paths were narrow either Ruby or I led, at broader points I had Ruby to my left and Pepe to my right both half a step behind me. Today I didn’t run with music like I usually do, our breaths were rhythmical and it felt good as we worked hard up the hills and through the woods. The air was still and thick, fog still in some places, particles of moisture formed little breath clouds as we exhaled. Each of us helped the other through the run, sometimes Ruby would pace Pepe and I, and sometimes she would hang back to provide him with moral as I carved out our pace and direction. Running with wolves….whatever the pack….is one of the single most raw and pleasurable experiences I know.

24 December 2011

Running with wolves part I




I’m dog sitting my best friend’s two Jack Russell’s this week. They have been joining Pepe (my huge greyhound cross breed) and I on our daily runs around the Sussex countryside. On a couple of occasions I’ve invited Rocky (a friend’s whippet/staff). And spending time with this group has been the most pleasant surprise.
Each dog has his own character which is displayed in a diluted version within the running pack. Running minimises character traits down to necessary displays only as most of our energies are being used in the running….this is certainly true of longer distances as we tire.
I am pack leader. No question. The absolute autocrat of our group. I know it and it feels quite natural, I expect to be obeyed and on the rare occasion I am not it surprises and frustrates me.
Next in line to the throne is Pepe, he is a cool customer. Doesn’t feel the need to assert his authority, the strong and silent type, completely comfortable in his ranking and in himself. When challenged he either reciprocates or sprints off instigating a game of chase. Otherwise he canters gracefully alongside me, only occasionally deviating from our course for a particularly juicy sniff and pee.
Rocky has enough character for 10 dogs and he is next in the pecking order. As he tires he tends to stride out in front, leading us all but regularly looking back or running into the pack for assurance. Before this stage he is totally random, manically trying to engage with anyone mainly Pepe. He charges, nips, barks, pounces, chases, spins, humps and trails him, constantly sprinting between him me and the point of our diamond formation pack. He is overflowing with life juice which totally saturates his muscles. Normally it takes about 4 miles to run it out and for his behaviour to reach a level plateau.
Next is Champion, aptly named as his legs are tiny yet he stays tight showing little sign of fatigue. As Rocky pelts assault after assault into Pepe’s flank Champion charges vocally after them both, otherwise he is consistently 3ft behind me. He is always in position, ready for action but too little to have confidence in his power. A great team player and back up he is always game.
Bringing up the rear literally and in rank is Hercules. Fat boy. He struggles with any speed or distance and trots panting about 100ft behind us. He avoids any kind of interaction too exhausted to risk further energy expenditure. He is able to blend into the background so gets overlooked by stronger members of the pack and he likes it this way. He doesn’t enjoy the rambunctious nature that Rocky brings to the pack, whereas Champion loves it and Pepe tolerates it.
I love being part of this pack. I particularly enjoy being in the middle of it which is why I prefer Rocky’s participation. When he is not with us I lead us, this means the feeling of being encompassed by dogs is lost. Rocky forces us all to engage with him, the spin off to that experience is I reap energy from the pack, they lift me. I feel free, joyous, like I could run and run and run. I have my music on and it’s never loud enough, the wind never blustery enough. My senses become totally wide open and I want more and more. I feel completely free, ecstatic, alive, pleasured and complete running with the wolves.

Archives