Well, this is my first non-triathlon blog. I made this whole song and dance about not being a triathlete, yet my posts are exclusively about triathlon. So here is a little foray in to my non-triathlon yet still invariably active life.
My husband, rather bizarrely, spends a couple of weeks every year in the cities of Almaty and Nur Sultan (Astana) in Kazakhstan for work. This half term, instead of relaxing and tapering for my next race, I decided it would be a great idea to fly to join him for two days of skiing in the Zailyisky Alatau range at the Shymbulak resort. Bearing in mind that I can’t speak a bean of Russian and my husband had only ever skied in Ski Dubai, this was bound to be an interesting week.
Skiing in Almaty isn’t your standard chalet and walk to the gondola in the morning kind of deal. There are a few hotels up at the resort but as a country whose tourism industry really hasn’t taken off yet, you’re better sticking with a hotel in the city centre. We stayed at the Rixos, a decision based purely on the fact that this was where my husband had been staying for work, and my insistence on a comfy bed after a day of skiing. Despite a half hour drive to the gondola in the morning, this was a great decision. The Rixos in Almaty has one of the best showers I have EVER experienced, great room service and the bed really was absolute heaven.
Now, I count myself amongst the very lucky few who got to go skiing in Europe as a child. I also count myself massively lucky to have a younger brother who lives in the picture-perfect ski town of Whistler in BC, Canada. Let’s just say that if you have any experience of European or North American skiing, the speed of the lifts in Kazakhstan will give you time to fully reflect on those experiences. I would actually say that this is the biggest negative of the whole place. The lifts are just SO SLOW! The gondola from the car park to the bottom of the resort slopes is never ending and, for someone who isn’t great with heights, just a little gnarly. However, once we got up to the resort we found a well stocked, well-restauranted ski village, and we proceeded to rent our gear. We were greeted with a pretty sazzy online system with plenty of choices of skis and boots, but a limited range of helmets. Despite assurances from the staff that ‘you fine no helmet’, George ended up buying his and I ended up encasing my tiny little pea head in a children’s Minions helmet, as this was all they had left. Just the look I was going for with my oh-so-casual, carefully-selected-for-maximum-flattery black skiing outfit.
Avalanche warnings meant that the number of slopes open was pretty limited, but there were enough for us to start getting a few runs in before lunch, despite the helmet debacle. What we hadn’t accounted for was the sheer number of utterly incapable snowboarders on slopes which were clearly not designed for utter beginners! However, after a few close shaves, we quickly realised that the best way to avoid these arrogant, incapable snowboarders was to get past them, fast! Poor George got a very quick initiation to real mountain skiing, having to avoid at least thirty boarders sitting on their arses within the first 100m from the station.
Despite all these little negatives, the skiing was fantastic. Fresh snowfall overnight gave kept the slopes puffy and virtually ice free. The limit of only having one main run was actually fine as it was wide enough to get in plenty of practice. The run from the mid station was round 2km long, plenty for my triathlon-weakened quads! Having started so late due to helmet-gate we only managed four hours or so, but in all honesty I don’t think I could have managed more!
The second day far outstripped the first. Armed with our own helmets and a better understanding of the system, we were on the first chair at 10am. Snow had been falling all night and had continued in to the morning, and this gave us the enormous benefit of keeping the fair-weather locals at bay. We had fresh powder all day. I got a bit braver (see – arrogant) and discovered a couple of slightly more technical side runs which were virtually empty. After a great deal of persuading, George conceded that it could be a good idea to get off the main run and see some more of the resort. This was where the fun began! Drifts of untouched powder, twisty, technical little cat-tracks and the massive, complete silence that only really exists when it’s snowing. The temperature had dropped to -13°and every single sound was swallowed up. I have to say, it’s not often you get any distance of run all to yourself in any ski resort, no matter where you are in the world. That peace and quiet lasted all of a few minutes until a local guy who was absolutely notrevelling in the peace came tumbling past on his snowboard, yelling what I can only assume were obscenities in Russian. Reverie shattered, we made our way back to the village for a well earned hot chocolate and an éclair.
By the end of the day, my legs were in absolute pieces. Two years ago I remember scoffing at my brother who told me that I’d be amazed at how tired my legs would be after a day of skiing. My exact thought process was “LOL does he realise that I do half Ironmans for FUN?!”. The lol was entirely on me, as my poor legs were battered after three days last time I went to Whistler, and were battered after two in Almaty. We are off to Whistler again in December for my 30thbirthday and Christmas, so as well as churning out an Ironman in September, I need to get on that squat rack in the gym and try to return my legs to some semblance of their previous strength!