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By Lisa Francesca Nand
The button lift stretches before me, gliding uphill before being ominously swallowed by the blizzard. I want to turn and run. But, with one foot strapped in what feels like the wrong direction of a snowboard and thirty impatient school kids behind me I'm not running anywhere.
If you've ever been skiing or snowboarding you might be familiar with this contraption. This saucer-sized disk attached to a rope, which is meant to sweep you up a ski slope, seems easy enough to master on skis - facing forward and grabbing it between two legs, but standing sideways on a snowboard means hooking it under one thigh with the apparent balance of a tight-rope walker.
In the year 2000 I had gone to Austria for two weeks snowboarding with my then boyfriend. There followed a hideous two weeks, in the throes of a dying relationship, where I spent most of the time choking back tears, falling flat on the hard, icy snow and bruising muscles I didn't even know existed.
The button lift had been my nemesis. In that resort there was no other way to get up the slope. Time after time I ended up in a painful, humiliatingly public heap of board and limbs on the searingly cold ground.
Fast forward nine years and I am fitter, stronger and more resilient than my pint-swilling, pool-playing student self of yester year.
Looking the part is half the Battle!
→ Page 2: After some training, will Lisa be able to snowboard?