At 48, Could I Get My Ski Legs Back?
Growing up I was a shy, awkward bookworm, but I had a weekend alter ego: ski racer. Speeding downhill made me feel strong and confident. I was happiest when I was skiing, training and racing with my cousins and teammates.
Then I went away to university and life intervened. I’m now 48, living in downtown Toronto with two kids, one budget and no car. I’ve skied precisely twice in this millennium, both times on a miniscule hill in my hometown that, while fun and convenient, is jokingly referred to as the Bump.
Enter one of the best emails I’ve gotten all year, from a publicist for the Norway-based outdoor brand Helly Hansen: Would I like to cheer on the Canadians at the women’s World Cup giant slalom race in Mont-Tremblant, Que. in December, do some skiing and also check out the official outerwear Helly makes for our national ski team ahead of the Olympics? (Helly Hansen has a longstanding partnership with Alpine Canada Alpin as the official apparel partner, and provides race suits, base layers and other gear to the national team, including the suits they'll be competing in at the Winter Olympics and Paralympics next year.) Obviously, it was my patriotic duty to say yes.
Fast forward three-and-a-half months, and I’m stepping into the bindings of a pair of rental skis after a gondola ride up an intimidatingly high mountain. It’s -20C and snowing, and I’m nervous. My first few turns see me sliding around the hill, trying not to smash into other skiers amid heavy snow. My form is all over the place, but every run sees me gradually feeling more confident.
To top off the day, Canadian Valérie Grenier—who grew up skiing at Tremblant—nabs the bronze at day one of the World Cup giant slalom, to the delight of the crowd. (Go Valérie!)
Skis, ski jackets and pants have come a long way since my racing heyday. This time, I wore my own sleek jacket, the same Helly Hansen insulated coat and overall-style pants the Canadian ski team racers wear (minus a few extra patches from sponsors). And I stayed nice and warm despite the freezing weather. I kept my lift ticket in a dedicated pocket on the left sleeve of my coat (these days, you wave your arm in front of a sensor to access the lift). My phone went into another pocket on my chest that had a layer of insulation to keep its battery from draining in the cold, and a sling to tether it to the pocket (which prevented me from dropping it off the chairlift while I studied the trail map). Perhaps best of all, the pants unzipped from the sides, so I could go to the bathroom without taking off my coat.
We also spent time with a former racer who helps work with Canadian and Norwegian athletes (Helly makes both their suits) to make sure their competition gear works for them—there's an incredible amount of care and attention to detail that goes into everything the athletes wear.
At the start of day two, another skier comments about how graceful I look, and I promptly smash the tips of my skis into a mogul, nearly crash, then hard stop with my butt in a pile of powder. Still, I’m having a blast. As the day wears on, my turns are smoother, my skis snapping into place as I switch direction across the slope. I don’t have to think about each turn—my body remembers the rhythm and I feel like I’m flying. I take on black diamonds—the hardest slopes—including a glade run that takes us through some snowy woods. It’s challenging, but also gorgeous—the powdered balsam fir trees remind me of the snow scene in the Nutcracker. I end up shutting down the mountain, speeding down a long run after catching the last ride up on the chairlift, and feeling like I’ve once again found my flow.
My next challenge: a workout with ACA alumna Kelly VanderBeek, who’s spent the weekend working with CBC Sports on the broadcast of the World Cup races. VanderBeek was fourth at the 2006 Turin Olympics—missing the bronze medal in the super giant slalom by just three one-hundredths of a second. The upcoming Winter Olympics in Milan and Cortina, which start in February, will be her ninth as a broadcaster, and tenth if you include her appearance as an athlete.
Thankfully, this workout is on dry land, at the Tremblant gym Brind'o. I have a vivid memory of reading an article about getting in shape for the ski hills in one of my father’s ski magazines as a child and thinking that anyone whose legs got sore from skiing was not only incredibly old but also deeply lame. Now, I am grateful for every squat and pilates clam shell I’ve done ahead of time, or I might not be able to keep up with VanderBeek after two days of skiing.
VanderBeek is shockingly relatable for an elite athlete, emphasizing working out for strength and function over appearance. She also reminds us that having a bit of fat on you is healthier for women—and better for long-term athletic performance, too.
As we do kettlebell swings, lunges and jumps on blocks while wearing a resistance band, VanderBeek talks about the importance of movement throughout the day—which even includes stretching at fancy events in a dress (many of her fellow athletes were doing the same).
Another pro tip: take recovery time seriously. Being able to follow prescribed rest, she says, can be one of the biggest factors in an athlete’s success. The same goes for staying healthy when you’re constantly travelling—along with masking on flights, she puts cream in her nostrils to keep her nose hydrated, drinks a ton of water, and recommends sleeping, napping or even just lying down with your eyes closed whenever you can.
I leave feeling better about myself and my body. I’ve been working hard at lifting weights—strength training is incredibly important for women as they age—but that has also meant that, for the first time in my life, I have a butt. As a result, I’ve gone up a size in my jeans—but, as VanderBeek says, it also means I’m strong and capable. I may not be the same shape as I was in my racing days, or as fast, but I still feel just as joyful and free when I fly down a hill.
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Born in London, Ont., Gillian was Chatelaine’s former deputy editor, digital. She has also worked at Toronto Life and the National Post. Gillian cares deeply about fighting climate change and loves birds, sad lady singers, bikes, baking and wide-legged denim. She lives in Toronto's east end with her partner, two children and Rosie, her very exuberant Bouvier des Flandres.
