What it's really like to Speed Ski

There are a few moments in your life when you realise you really are out of your depth, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Those moments when you’ve gone past the point of no return, and you’re no longer in control of your own destiny. The instant the car leaves the road, the dream girl breaking up with you or the plane making the emergency landing. Mine is now.

I’m stood at the top of the Chabrières piste in Vars, dressed in 3mm of British Ski Team lycra, and I’m about to straight-line the steepest ski slope in the world as part of the FIS World Cup. It’s 22 below freezing and I lost all feeling in my hands and feet half an hour ago. My legs are cold and stiff, and I’d probably struggle to ski a blue slope right now, let alone the vertical abyss I’m now facing. Attached to my feet are a pair of used downhill skis I bought on eBay, and until 2 weeks ago my right leg was in a cast after a surfing accident.

The numbers alone are pretty frightening. With a vertical drop of about 500m in the space of the 1,200m course, when I point my skis down the slope, I’ll accelerate from 0 to 100mph in about 4 seconds. That’s as fast as a Formula 1 car, but Jenson Button has brakes. And a steering wheel. I have 5 year old bindings attached to 3 year old ski boots, attached to 32 year old legs. If all goes to plan, in 25 seconds time I’ll be about a kilometre away at the finish. If it doesn’t …..well not making it doesn’t really bear thinking about as there is no such thing as a small crash in Speed Skiing.

I can remember being transfixed to Ski Sunday at the age of 7, dreaming that someday I could ski for Britain. Summer and winter seasons, university and “proper jobs” in London all put paid to that plan for me. Or so I thought, but somehow I’m now stood here, a quarter of a century later, wondering whether I’ve achieved my ambition, or I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life. Because I’m pretty sure that when Usain Bolt proudly represents his country, he doesn’t have a nagging doubt that he might not make it home at the end of the day. Nobody really talks about the dangers of Speed Skiing, but there have been 2 fatalities at competitions in the last 5 years and lots of crashes. The helicopter and doctor at the bottom of the track are not there by coincidence.

So why aren’t we at Vancouver at the moment? Why are we in the background despite having a British world champion 2 years ago? In 1992 at Les Arcs, Speed Skiing was a winter Olympic sport, but gained a dangerous reputation after a Swiss competitor died. It was never brought back, despite being the second most watched event after the men’s downhill. Speed skiers talk in hushed tones about it’s possible return in 2018 at Annecy, but that’s far from guaranteed, so for the moment we’re limited to the FIS World Cup tour.

I’m edging forward. In front of me are just 3 more competitors before it’s my turn. I’m still not quite sure why I’m here after all. So do I have a ski racing background? Nope, a few seasons as a Mark Warner ski host and some big air competitions on a snowboard a decade ago, but that’s it. My only ski lessons I’ve ever had were a week in Wengen at the age of 6, where I didn’t want to turn, instead insisting on straight-lining every slope I came across. That lasted until I discovered moguls. Maybe it was a sign after all.

2 to go. I really have bitten off more than I can chew here. I’m pretty sure I’m the only rookie here. Due to a strange set of events, I got the chance to briefly try speed skiing at a race in Verbier last year, but was cut due to “dangerous technique”. I ended up plumb last. My entire training from Marc Poncin, (the British and ex-World Champion) before the event consisted of one terrifying phrase: “If you make it to the bottom, I’ll tell you what you did wrong”. My first run was 94mph, but more importantly I survived it. My personal best now stands at 166 km/h, about 104mph, and that was my previous run. I’m going faster than I’ve ever gone before as we move rapidly up to higher and higher start points. This one is certainly the penultimate run, if not the last one.

Last person in front of me.

“Man or mouse” time. My heart is trying to bounce out my chest. The Frenchman in front of me is shaking, and I’m not certain it’s from the cold. The guy behind me looks physically sick. 70 or so metres below us sits our previous start, and it’s a long way down to the 500 or so people watching from the bottom at the finish. This is going to be new PB if I make it to the bottom, and by quite a way. At 104mph my skis had minds of their own, skittering all over the slope and I could barely keep them in a straight line. This really is a big step into the unknown.

He’s off.

Edge forward carefully into the middle of the track. A slip here is guaranteed to send you sliding down for at least half a mile on the slick suits, picking up hefty ice burns and even more embarrassment on the way down. Deep breaths. The starter looks at me, waiting for the radio signal that the track is clear. More deep breaths. Easier if I don’t look down. Concentrate. “Piste libre” comes from his radio. He looks at me for what seems like an age, his eyes boring into me, and then…”Quand tu veux”.

Final breath. Visor down. Jump, turn and tuck.

And at that moment, it strikes me again why I do this. Far from the hyperventilating mess I was a second ago, everything is now clear and focused. As I start to accelerate, I’m suddenly aware of everything around me in minute detail. I can see every imperfection in high definition on the slope ahead. A calmness descends and everything feels right, and like a junkie taking a hit, I feel more alive than ever before.

As I barrel down the slope, the wind starts to scream in my ears. I’m being forced backwards on my skis by the drag, but I need to get my weight as far forward as possible, fists punching through the air. I see a football sized piece of snow and ice 50 yards ahead of me that’s rolled onto the slope. I adjust slightly, rolling onto my edges and steer a smooth path round it. Hitting something that size at this speed would be catastrophic. The only really way I can judge my speed is the volume of the wind, and it’s getting louder…and louder…

A racer’s speed is measured over a 100m distance between two timing beams at the bottom of the course, and about 50m before the first I get hit by a sudden cross-wind. I’d been warned it was there, funnelled through a gully, but there’s not a lot you can do to prepare and I’m thrown sideways catching a big inside edge. I come out of the tuck to balance, get some weight off that leg and with all my strength drag the ski back into line. It straightens after what seems like an age, I scrabble back into the tuck as I cross the first red line.

Over the timing course, my skis are virtually uncontrollable, rattling about, constantly threatening to catch another edge. At this speed the small lumps and rolls in the snow are causing so much vibration my vision is blurring, and I have the stability of a new-born deer on an ice rink.

Second red line. Timing over.

Green line indicating that I can gently stand up now. Slowly does it. One of the biggest dangers is standing up too fast; the sudden impact of 100mph airflow causing a skier to back-flip out of their ski bindings. A quarter of a mile to slow down passes quickly and I’m skiing into the finish area.

I spot Tom Horn, the other member of the GBR team and British record holder “How did I do?”
“182.74 km/h. Faster than me”
Shit, that’s 114mph, and a good 10mph faster than I’ve ever been before.
“Bloody hell. And Marc?”
“Not as fast as you. You’re in 6th"

Of the 19 competitors in our class, the top 7 got invited to run again from a higher up the next day. I (and last year’s world champion) decided to call it a day there as I didn’t want to run out of luck or talent before I ran out of balls. Marc Poncin ran again, and won the event from 7th place. I dropped from 6th to 7th, but wasn’t disappointed. As the British team, we got 1st, 7th & 8th, and apparently that’s the best ever result for a British Alpine Ski team in a FIS competition, and with another 5 events still to go on the tour we hope we can beat it.

100mph, Richard Branson and bad news

Today has been a funny day. Massive highs, and massive lows, so let me start at the beginning….

We made the usual 60 minute, 3 lift trek up to the track and got our start numbers. I’m always right in the middle, as the racers with World Cup points go first, then those with just FIS points (us) in order of the least experience. I.e. me first every time. I also found out that contrary to what I was told last night, I would indeed get some FIS points for yesterday’s race. The day was looking up after all…

I was running a little late, and had to rush onto the lift to get to the start. As I was waiting an instantly recognisable haircut stepped into the small cable car and my jaw dropped. It was Richard Branson. One of my ambitions has always been to meet the man in person, so I sidled as close as I could without raising attention and flashed the union jack on my race suit. He was chatting away happily to his daughter and didn’t notice. I coughed slightly and edged my leg a little closer in what was fast becoming a “lunge”. Still nothing. In a final attempt I tweaked the lunge by rocking forwards and backwards gently in manner that would get you arrested outside a primary school, and then managed to drop a pole. “So are you competing then?” asked a random bloke behind me, engaging me in a conversation 180 degrees from the direction I wanted to be facing. Bugger.

At the top of the lift I decided I would turn up the level of the “stalk” one notch. I followed him down the stairs and barged a random cheese eating surrender monkey out the way so I could put on my skis next to him, obviously with yet another “tweaked lunge”. Still nothing. Is this man made of ice? Does he need glasses?

Skis on, I followed him down the narrow entry to the slope, and as he stopped on the edge, I eventually grabbed my chance: “Sir Richard, wish us luck!” I said. What I think he said was: “Good luck Benja, I’ve always been a great fan and fully support your noble, yet ill planned and dangerous entry into the British Ski Team”. Although, as it was a bit of a grunt I couldn’t make out all the words, and it might have just been “Sod off and leave me alone you spandex wearing weirdo”.

Even though I was late, there was the inevitable waiting as competitor after competitor went down. I was trying to remember what Marc and Banger, the Swedish coach (who has been very helpful as the British coach is recovering from an operation in the UK) had said about my tuck. “Flatten your back”. “Weight off your heels”. Right, got that. And there was the same feeling of unconstrained adrenaline coursing into my veins, and sweat on my palms as I inched closer to the front. We were starting from the same height as yesterdays final run before heading another 20 yards up the hill for the second of the day, and although I had been from this height before, it didn’t make it any less terrifying.

“Quand tu veux” went the starter. Right, off I go. Shit caught an edge. Hang on…snowplough, straighten skis and go. I’d already lost 30 yards of the course from a simple f*ck-up. OK, into the tuck. Here we go accelerating just like yesterday…shit…what did Banger say…my weight is too far back…get forward….OK…that’s better…back flat…and go….

My skis felt very stable beneath me, and I was doing good speed. Poles a little close to my face maybe, but OK. Seems good. And hold for the timing run…..over the red line, then the green and up into the airstream….and relax. Yesterday from the same height in the same conditions I managed 157.27 kph. I closed in on the scoreboard at the bottom and couldn’t believe it. 161.73 kph. That’s it! Anything over 161 is 100mph. The speed I’ve always wanted to hit. At last, I’ve done it…

Marc was at the bottom with a grin. “Is that good?” I asked. “That’s pretty quick” he said. (To give an idea of the field – the fastest on Tues was 165.42, and the fastest today 165.70 so the track hadn’t got much faster, apparently Banger and Marc’s advice had made all the difference)

I was ecstatic about it. As I skied to the lift back to the competitor’s area, I was like a 5 year old child, shouting and waving my poles everywhere. I’d done it. When I got there, I headed up to the results board to check I hadn’t just seen the previous competitors result. Nope, there it was bright as day. And I looked down the list of guys after me…160, 155, 159, 160, 160, 154…hang on. Yesterday as the only rookie I was 20th out of 21, and today after one run I was up to 15th. In a bloody World Cup race. Shit the bed. I’m a rock star!

Banger came over, congratulated me, then gave me some tips (he watches every racer through binoculars), and showed me a much better tuck position for the next run. I was fired up. Here we go…Ipod on with a suitable soundtrack, back on the lift and back to the start. This time I was ready to give it some bells. At the final start line we are always called forward by Alison, an American who was the first woman through 200 kph 25 years ago. I was just considering some pithy line to give her as she called my name. “Benja?”. “Yup…” I replied, with a comedy classic about to roll off my tongue. “You’re TD’d – sorry they didn’t tell you?”

At every FIS race there is a Technical Director who decides start times, start order, checks back protectors, safety gear and other admin. Another of his roles is to check technique, and give a warning to anyone he thinks aren’t in control. After that warning you are then expected to put right whatever fault you have demonstrated, otherwise he won’t let you start from any higher on the slope (and as every run is from slightly higher for a faster speed is essentially a retirement). This was the one possible flaw in my entry into a speed skiing competition. Essentially the last ski lesson I had was when I was 8 years old, I’d never had any speed skiing training, and Marc’s advice for my first run was “go with what’s natural, and we’ll make changes to your tuck as we go”. I knew I was “winging it”, and there was always a danger I might get caught out as a rookie on technique. Everyone else builds up their speeds in training more gently…100 kph, 105kph, 110kph and so on. Due to various constraints, I’d just had to “wing it” from about my previous fastest of about 110 / 120 kph straight up to 155/160 in one step.

I knew there was no chance in arguing, and with my tail between my legs skied down the black mogul slope on my race skis (a challenge in itself) and back to the competitor’s area. I felt gutted. I felt I’d let down Marc, Tom, Banger and Millar Reid (the British Coach back in the UK who took a gamble on me competing in the first place having never seen me ski). I’d f*cked it, and worst of all didn’t know what I’d done wrong as Alison couldn’t tell me.

“What did you do?” Marc asked. “No f*cking idea” I replied. Marc went off to find the FIS judge and get an explanation. He called me over and translated the reason “too much weight on my heels – can be dangerous”, and then started arguing the point for me. “But he’s very fast and stable” was his first repost. “It doesn’t matter…it is a dangerous position” the reply. “But he should have a first warning and he can put it right…” A shrug of the shoulders was the answer to that. Marc fought my case as strongly as he could (and he holds a lot of weight in the speed skiing scene), but to no avail. “I do not disqualify him” said the judge “I just do not let him go from any higher up the hill”. So retirement then. Banger and Marc had spotted my flaw on the first day, I had only remembered half way down the slope to correct it, but by that point the FIS guy must have already seen me and made his decision. (I wasn’t alone though – a total of 5 were cut / didn’t make the comp)

So that’s it. My speed stands, I will get FIS points, I am not disqualified, but even for the run I didn’t get to do, all my competitors used the extra height and went faster. And there is another day of competition still to go. So I’m last. Which sucks.

So there you go. As a day, it’s one I’ll remember. On the upside, I broke the 100mph barrier, represented Britain for skiing, beat experienced speed skiers in a World Cup race, met Richard Branson (all be it briefly), I don’t have to spend 2 hours waxing my skis tonight and can get absolutely shitfaced. On the downside, I was improving every run (and getting personal best’s every time – based on the other guy’s 2nd run I could have been in the 167kph / 103 mph area already, with even more tomorrow), and I had just missed out on a rags to riches opportunity of a lifetime – all I wanted to do was not come last, and I had been sitting 15th out of 21!

I sat there, on my own, revelling in my misery on the lift down, until I had a bit of an epiphany. This was always going to be a long shot. I had one pair of second hand skis to race on, most other guys are sponsored, have several pairs for different conditions (one guy has 11 at this comp alone). I had learnt to wax and tune a ski for speed for the first time 2 days ago, had never had any ski race training whatsoever, let alone speed skiing and was truly “winging it”. Being realistic, I probably had more bravery than was than strictly sensible, and not enough skill to match it. Or as my dad would describe it “more balls than brains”. I alwways wanted to do this, and it was the chance of a lifetime, but I am realistic and there was always the chance that this could go horribly wrong at some point (no doubt at over 100mph), and it didn’t. For that I should be grateful. So I’m not pissed off. I’ll be gutted when I look up the hill tomorrow and see the rest of the guys do their stuff. But I’ll probably have a terrible hangover to go with it….

Benja

Photo below is the results - I was drawn number 58. 45-66 (in the red box) are in my class - Men's Downhill.

Fear verses Stupidity

So the weather looked OK today. We headed up for the start, I squeezed into my race suit and jumped on the lift.

Arguably the hardest thing about the course is the entry - a 300m traverse across a black mogul field on non-race skis (mine only have 3 edges left as I haven't got round to getting a new pair yet) carrying all your kit and race skis (which weigh about 15kg alone). You then have to perch on a pretty much 45 degree slope, swap skis, remove kit and then strap it all together for the sherpas to take it down to the bottom. Then there's the 40m queuing on a 40cm wide ledge, before the final launch down the slope.

Competitors started going down and I edged towards the front. 120 went, then 121. I was 125. I could feel my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. 122. My gloves are drenched with the sweat pouring off my hands and I'm worried that I'll steam up my googles from the vapour evaporating from my face. 123. This is where I got to yesterday before being cancelled. Surely not again. I wonder if there are any get out clauses left? Fake a heart attack? - not believable enough. I left the washing machine on? - unlikely as it's 800 km away. 124. Right, now or never. I take a big look down the slope that stretches steeply down almost a km down to my left. 124 is accelerating down and away and I have to lever myself into the starting position. I know that in less than 30 seconds I will be passing through the finish like it or not. Man or mouse? Time to find out.

"Quand tu veux" the starter says. And suddenly this calm decends. When I was skydiving, I hated the seconds before the jump, but as soon as I was out of the plane I was literally on cloud 9 and everything seemed very right and chilled.

I twisted the skis through 90 degrees and pointed them down the slope. And suddenly everything was clear. I tucked up, felt the speed build beneath the P-Tex below and concentrated on making as aerodynamic shape as possible. I'm told you hit 60mph in about 3 seconds and feeling the rate I'm gaining speed I can well believe it. I see a small rut ahead, brace myself for the impact and continue on. Although its a terrible cliche, I really feel very alive. My senses are so focused on everything round me I'm feeling tiny imperfections in the snow I'd never normally notice. I'm definitely going faster than ever before, and the wind is roaring through the helmet. I can see the first red line ahead signifying the beginning of the timing area. I fly across it. Then the second. Through that too. 50 yards further on is the green line which means I can start to stand up and decelerate.

The trick is to do it gently I'm told, because if I suddenly stand up from a tuck there's a chance I'll backflip out of my skis. Arms out first, slowly raise my head and feel the wind slowing me. Try a gentle turn, but realise I'm still going faster than the national speed limit, so a big snowplough might be safer. Gently down to the exit gate and onto the drag lift back to the competitors area.

15 seconds. That was it. So much preparation, nerves, waxing, waiting and general faffing and it was all over in 15 seconds. But what a 15 seconds.

151.79 kph. Or about 94 mph in old money. A quick check of the scoreboard shows I'm not even last! A way off the leaders (6 kph), but not last and I've been told I'm the only rookie here - everyone has competed before. Marc comes up to me and gives me the ultimate compliment - "not bad" he says.

Second run was from slightly higher, and I clocked 157.27kph / 97.7mph. Just 2.3mph short of my target! It also felt more like 70% survival / 30% speed, whereas the first was definitely 95% survival.

For the other Brits, Marc Poncin won the Downhill category I'm in, and Tom Horn was sadly disqualified for going down without his back protector on.

So that's it for the first World Cup comp - due to weather it's just 2 runs, but it means I have done my first ever speed ski run, achieved FIS (World Skiing Federation) points, represented Great Britain for skiing, didn't make a tit out of myself, didn't come last, almost cracked 100mph. And tomorrow we start again for the second 2-day competition, weather permitting from even higher, so tomorrow could be the 100mph day...

Speed Skiing

Only a fool would go speed skiing with a raging hangover after 5 hours of boozy sleep and on the point of vomiting. Only a complete idiot would do it on a pair of super-stiff race skis he’d never before used. And only a complete imbecile would do it on Friday 13th.

The hangover was thanks to a Genepy bender last night to celebrate Bruce’s birthday. I don’t remember going to bed, but I do remember briefly being the greatest pool player in the world, before doing shots after closing hours with the owner.

The skis are courtesy of eBay and an up and coming young skier called TJ Baldwin. He’s the current British U18 champion in all 6 events. He was ranked No14 in the world for age 18 in Downhill for 2008 and looks like a very bright prospect for British winter sports. I am now the proud owner of his factory downhill race skis from last year.

The “Flying Kilometre” hill in Les Arcs 2000 was created for the 1992 Winter Olympics. Speed Skiing was tried as a potential Olympic sport, but later dropped as it was considered “too dangerous”. Since then it’s been a mecca for speed junkies, throwing themselves down at speeds of up to 150mph until a tragic accident last year. Seeing as most of the KL (flying kilometre) hill is officially closed this year for safety improvements, Club des Sport ran a mini-KL at the bottom for punters which I thought would be a good start.

I dragged my carcass out onto the piste and went for a quick run to remind myself how 215 cm downhill skis felt. Pretty much un-skiable is the answer. They’re so stiff and heavy that until you’re doing 40-50mph they don’t really turn. Sod that, I thought – may as well just go and have a crack anyway.

I got off the lift, traversed to the course and tried to restrain the sudden urge to be sick on my skis. I was given some brief, unintelligible instruction in French which definitely included the words “Dangereux” and “Bof”, tried to remember the advice Kev Alderton had emailed me and pointed the skis downhill.

My ambition has always been to hit 100mph. It just seemed like a nice round number to aim for. As I accelerated down the slope, it became clear that I wasn’t going to get anywhere close to that kind of speed today. At the bottom they confirmed it. 99km/h - 61mph. Fast, but not that quick. And certainly slower than I’ve been before on skis. But a quick look down the list showed it wasn’t a bad time at all. In fact I couldn’t see anyone who had passed 100kmh, and there were several characters hanging about in skin-tight race suits with suspiciously new looking helmets.

My second run hit 101 km/h and my third nudged 102 km/h (63.4mph). Sadly there wasn’t much more to be had, and considering I was wearing a loose fleece, normal salopettes, a snowboarding helmet and a brutal hangover there just wasn’t any more speed to be had. By the end of the day after 60 or so punters I was 3rd best, with one chap late in the day managing 103.5 km/h. I can live with that.

However, off the back of this I have made some contacts and dates permitting, I have been invited out to a proper race on the world speed skiing circuit in Verbier in April, where 100+ mph will be well within my reach!

The Inspiration

Ski Jumping, Speed Skiing, Speed Riding and the Cresta Run. That’s the plan. In the space of 4 weeks in 2009 I want to learn how to do each of them.

This all started, as most good things do, in the pub. On the 21st October 2006 to be precise. On my way to the bar I bumped into a chap wearing a ski jacket with “British Team” emblazed on it. Not that unusual at the ski show, however this bloke was so pissed he was crashing into everyone and everything on the way back from the bog. I was also fairly leathered and being sociable, I asked what skiing discipline he did. “Speed Skiing” he said. At this point I thought he would be better qualified for the British rudeness team (an interesting concept, but you know they’d always lose to the French at the World Championships) because he wasn’t even looking at me when he answered, he was staring back towards the bar at his pint. Expecting him to head back to his pint which was obviously the centre of his attention at this point, I started to walk away. “Do you ski?” he said.

Now I was confused. This guy can’t even be bothered to look me in the face when he’s talking to me, but he wants to keep up a conversation he’s not even apparently interested in. Perhaps he’s a Guiness fan and has a couple of minutes to kill before it’s settled? I was intrigued by Speed Skiing, so I thought I’d ignore his rudeness and get him to look at me by subtly sliding sideways into his field of vision. Perhaps he’s just really shy I thought.

It was at this point I introduced myself and held out my hand for a good firm “we’re both men here, there’s no need to be rude / shy” kind of shake. “Kev” he said. And left me hanging. And hanging. And people round us started to notice that there I was with my hand obviously pointed at his groin, while he just looked blankly at me. I eventually withdrew, and made a mental note never to make the same mistake in a gay bar.

At was at this point he rummaged round in his pocket and pulled out a card. It is to this day still the coolest business card I have ever seen, and at that point it all made sense. It read “Kev Alderton, Blind Speed Skier”. “F*ck me” I said “Your golden retriever must have balls the size of watermelons”.

Kev and I grabbed a pint and had a chat about skiing, ambition, world records and chalet girls. To break more than 100mph on skis, he has a mate (Norman Clark) on a radio link who directs him down the speed slope, which helps make up for the fact he has just 4% vision. He lost his sight in 1998 after being attacked by a gang in Islington. I won’t go into the details but you can read more about it here. His story is remarkable, well worth reading and inspired me to give it a crack myself.