What every skier needs to know about their new skis
I will admit I have woken up in bed hugging a pair of new skis on at least one occasion. For a skier there is nothing more exciting that holding a glistening untouched pristine pair of planks. Hours can be spent simply admiring the top sheets or catching sight of them across the sitting room, the television used to capture your gaze but now the smooth rocker takes pride of place. Detours around the house occur for a glimpse, to tenderly spread a thumb down an unspoilt edge. The honeymoon period is sweet and the agony is yet to begin, for it is October, two enduring months await. Still time passes, another fortnight, tree’s outside wrapped orange and brown, still not white.
Where should I mount the bindings
Decisions have to be made and forums to browse, where should the bindings be mounted. Working out the perfect mounting point will take hours of reading, explaining to other skiers that you have new skis and the frustration it causes. Will mounting at true centre really make you the cruisey park rat you’ve always dreamed of, or will it be a waste. You will still struggle to look good on a flat box. Skiing switch is an ambition and a centre mount is going to make you comfortable skiing backwards, really?
They’re meant to be an all mountain ski though, powder for breakfast, slush for lunch, so eventually you sacrifice you freestyle hall of fame ambitions and settle for the line ‘recommended boot centre’ that was there all along.
True centre would be fun but maybe when it gets deeper would they be there to be counted upon. So I could move back, create some stability through the fluff and in the park they become slack. All along the suggested boot centre line staring you in the face, minus two point five.
The long months become weeks and the weeks become days, one frosty misty morning the sun rises to the pistons firing, the generators filled, turbines whirring. You click clack your boot shuffle to the lift queue. You wince as the liftie decides to forcefully rearrange your babies in the gondola rack.
New skis on the chair lift
Finally you clip in, a small yet audible yelp leaves your lips and a shiver down your spine whilst pushing to the chairlift, where horror awaits. The crowd of rental skis interspersed with children awaits you, an angry mob, every one of them intent on leaving scars across top sheets. Your staring daggers make no effect through the new blackouts, awaiting too, their first scratch. An elbow here, a pole thwack there and finally the safety bar drops down ending the pain. But what is this fresh hell, snowboarder to the left, snowboarder to the right. Negotiations begin, this is my foot rest, not yours.
Click clack, putt putt, the boots shuffles begin. The queue are bristling, over filled with excitement, crowding your pride and joy.
Then finally, it begins, off the chair over the ridge. The hard morning ice feels different than it did before, solid yet gripped with edges like Bode Miller in his groove. The precision and glide has you beaming from ear to ear, the money, the decisions, the waiting, all worth it.
Every stone or hard looking piece of ice is expertly avoided until a crushing tear rips through you. Stop immediately to inspect the bases, just to make sure your buddies know how much you care about your new skis. Relief every time, as its a false alarm, until one day the first scar appears. Now you can finally relax.
The damage is done and you can get back to skiing for fun, run after run.