Ski Stories, Retold

Ski Stories, Retold

My parents were avid amateur skiers. For years they have told me the stories of their attempts down the hills and across the countries of Germany, Austria, France, Italy, and Switzerland. My dad becomes animated, imitating the huffing and puffing of his trips and laughing until his belly bounces, a result of less physical activity since those adventures. My mom laughs more quietly and requires more questions to keep her stories going. But both remember the same highlights and downfalls.

When they were both stationed in Bitburg, Germany they signed up for the USAFE (pronounced u-safe-y) ski team. USAFE is the United States Air Force – Europe, the American Air Forces in Europe and European Air Forces.

“Some were very good. They had made the Junior Olympics [before joining the Air Force],” Mom said, “but we were just doing it for fun and a free vacation.”

They had minimal ski practice beforehand, but couldn’t pass up the prospective of a free vacation. They got TDY (temporary duty elsewhere) for the ski competitions, so they didn’t have to take leave time. One competition lasted for a week in Berchtesgaden, Germany, a small village near Austria.

Mom did the giant slalom and the downhill. The giant slalom is a downhill event with two parallel poles called gates spread apart from other gates all the way down the mountain. The object is to ski through the gates in a specified order as fast as possible. Mom can’t remember how well she did but she “maybe made it down.” She said, in reference to the downhill event, “I made extra turns to try to slow myself down. I was fourth place or something; there weren’t many in it. Dad did well in his cross-country event. He was tenth.”

Dad said, “We were lousy.” He chickened out at the top of the downhill. “We had to stand up there, all cold and holding our poles close, and then just throw ourselves down. We got so stiff, and it hurt so bad.”

Mom joined in, “The tension. Oh, we were so tense. Our neck muscles and shoulders. Because you’re up there and so scared. [Those nights] we filled up the hot tub several times.”

Both remembered Harry Morse, the ENT (Ear-Nose-Throat doctor).