I stopped at the small cafeteria to purchase yogurt, a cookie, a bottle of water. My appetite for the cookie disappears once I discovered that it was 400 calories and I was only able to eat 1/4 of it. I sat at one of the tables lined up against a row of windows, warmed by the sun, watching groups of skiers and snowboarders coming off the mountain and onto the lifts to reach the top once again.
I was alone. I was tired and keenly aware of the soreness in my ankles. With no shuttle available to take me back to the resort proper, I would have to take the lift back up to the top and board down the south face.
I am wary of lifts, having been hit on the back of the head by a chair when an attempt to get off one on a baby slope* went awry and falling off one while attempting to get in the chair, resulting in a mild concussion and a sore neck when my head hit the boards underneath the chairs. A deep breath, tighten my boots back up, strap myself back into the board and onto the lift. Struggle for several moments to get the safety bar down across my lap, out of the way of my board.
The ride up was long, the wind was harsh, the weight of the board dragged on my leg and they tired from dangling for so long without any support. My hands began to alternate between tingling and numb. A careful examination of my gloves revealed small holes on the sides, near the fingertips. Midway through the trip the lift slowed to a stop and I sat there, chair swinging in the wind, hoping that the lift would start back up and wondering how hard the ground was if I had to jump.
Off at the top, back onto the slopes. Fall shortly after getting off the lift and must quickly drag myself out of the way of the group coming off the chairs behind me. They cheer, relieved at my presence of mind to get out of their way.
Hands freezing, out of my bindings, inside the lodge to purchase some gloves. More sunlight pours through the window and inside is bustling. The gloves are expensive and made more so by the inclusion of a 2% resort tax on top of the 5% regional and the 7.5% provincial tax.
Retrieve board from the seemingly miles of racks of boards and skis in front of the lodge. Carry to a gentle slope and struggle to strap in - the bindings are new Flow bindings and I'm still learning how to set the straps properly and step in and out of them without falling over.
Once strapped in, I noticed that my left boot is tight, a painful sensation of a metal band clamping and digging into the front of my ankle. I take my foot out of the bindings, readjust and step back into the bindings. Still painful.
Fifteen minutes later and I'm still in pain and I still need to get down the mountain. I finally set off and begin the cycle of falling and getting back up all over again. The conditions on the south face slopes have deteriorated from use and the surface is rough and pebbly.
Getting back up becomes excruciating, the left boot digs painfully deep into my leg every time I try to get back to my feet, and the pain makes it more difficult to get back up. I become increasingly tired and must stop often. I can not get enough momentum going and must stop, unstrap my bindings and walk because the surface is too flat for forward movement.
In the end. I must hike down the last trail, difficult to do boots designed to fully limit motion in the foot and ankle. I am not alone, as I have run into J and his brother again. J takes my board from me and insists on carrying the rest of the way down.
I am exhausted when I reach the bottom. My body trembles and my ankles ache. We sit for a while in a café decorated to look like a Parisian corner bar. I eat a brownie and drink hot tea and talk to two residents of Tremblant.
On Friday J hands me a small bag containing one blue and one red Mont Tremblant. I take a moment to carefully apply a sticker to my board. I earned this one.
