Year 9 ski camp had a reputation as the most awesome thing that our school did, apart from serve alcohol at the year 12 formal, and not including providing an education for us. All it was was three days skiing at Mount Buller, but for some reason, from more or less the first day of Year 7, everyone looked forward to it and was convinced it was going to rule.
In reality, year 9 ski camp took the social nightmare of being a teenager at an all girls school into a place that is really cold. It was basically cold Mean Girls. But Tina Fey didn't write it and therefore was not funny. AT ALL. I'm sure some people had an awesome time, but this directly related to which tier you belonged to.
At the top of the pile were the girls who went skiing every year with their families. They knew what they were doing. They used words like "pomma" and "black run" and wore ski gear from Surf, Dive 'n' Ski. For these girls, ski camp was the awesome time we all hoped it would be.
In the middle were the girls who didn't know how to ski, but were athletic and competitive and had no fear. They wore practical gear that allowed them to get the job done. They probably had a fairly good time at ski camp too.
At the bottom of the hierarchy were the kids who have never skied, have no athletic ability, fear the cold and either wore gear that was more suitable for temperatures in the mid-teens, or in my case, gear that their mothers borrowed from a friend who has four sons. Four sons! Do I look like your son, Mum? Do I?
Anyway, year 9 ski camp was a total nightmare for those of us in tier 3, a nightmare that began as soon as we arrived.
We were all told to put on our skis and board the chair lift. I had serious reservations about this, what with never having skied before and never having been on a chairlift before. However, the general Mean Girls environment was not, shall we say, a safe place to voice one's reservations. Those of us who had them spent a long chairlift ride quietly reflecting on them. Plus, the teachers insisted we do this and told us it would be fine! They are teachers, they know what they are talking about, right?
I'm sure you can see where this is going.
When the chairlift ride finished, the top tier girls whisked off happily. The rest of us immediately fell over and pretty much formed a pile of human destruction that got bigger and bigger as each chair deposited its load of girls. They basically had to stop the chairlift so they could clear the area, which was easier said than done given that we were all wearing skis, and snow is really slippery. People would get up, then fall over, then get up, then fall over, etc. etc. etc.
Meanwhile, the teachers were literally nowhere to be seen, because people look exactly the same in snow gear. So there we were, lying contorted in the snow, unable to recognise anyone or anything apart from our own dreams which lay shattered around us.
For many of us, the trauma of the chairlift incident basically ruined the whole camp for us. We had ski lessons in the afternoon, but the damage was done. All our energy then went in to convincing teachers that we were sick and couldn't ski the following day. Those of us who were successful sat around in the canteen drinking hot chocolate and looking at the floor. We barely spoke. Turns out that teenage girls with broken spirits are terrible company.
Some girls rallied, and managed to master the snow plough by the third day. Those girls were the tough ones. I just sat in the cafeteria drinking hot chocolate.
It took me years to ski again. And I have never really felt the same about hot chocolate either.
But now I love both! Hooray!
Yay!
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