This is what we do for fun

It's a funny moment when you realize that you (and most people around you) start turning in early on Friday nights with the hope of hearing that alarm go off at 5:30AM Saturday morning. Especially when you consider that there was a time (not so very long ago) when I would be just heading for home at 5:30 Saturday morning.

That must be why, every 5:30AM, bleary-eyed, set-the-alarm-clock-in-the-other-room-so-you-have-to-get-up-to-turn-it-off morning Marcel asks the rhetorical question, "Tell me again, are we really doing this for fun?"

At 6AM, when we are passing all the stumbling party-goers headed for home and munchies, I think so. Especially when our train neighbors fall asleep on the train and end up on the other side of the country. Literally. See case study below:

Two hours, one birthday pastry, two mimosas and one gondola ride later, I no longer think so. I KNOW we do this for fun. Hands down. No question about it.

Sun, snow and slippery slopes

It's day three in Davos, -20 degrees Celcius and not a cloud in the sky.

As the Xenophobe's Guide to the Swiss would say, this is a day that even the Swiss go skiing.

(Especially when compared to day two, which kindly featured -30 degrees (-22F) and frigid gusts of wind that happily landed us in the ol' sheep barn turned mountain bar at the summit for the day...)

At any rate, I am absolutely loving it. Until I realise that sunshine and blue skies means that I can actually SEE the run in front of me, and can easily imagine every possible traumatic incident that will surely ocurr. You know, head over heels, wrists snapped back, knees jammed, broken ankles, whiplash, mountain helicopters ...

And so, I sit at the top of what is clearly a life-threatening cliff, three thirds of the way down the run, and try not to start bawling like a baby. Literally. For twenty minutes, during which I desperately explore every possible option:

Walk down? Impossible.
Call for some handsome man to come carry me down? Too likely to end in domestic dispute.
Climb back up the hill and go down the other side? Not without rocket lifters.
Roll down the hill like a little kid? Likely suicide.

And so, on the brink of both tears and a heart attack, and with no other possible option in sight, I scoot down the entire cliff on my booty. For 20 terrifying, butt-numbing mintues, scooting down the hill. Embarassing? Clearly.

And all of this sacrifice, only to discover over a much needed double shot toddy afterward that it was the SAME cliff I had loved going down not once, but 4 times two days before ... when the visibility was so bad that I couldn't see where I was going.

All play and no work

Commemorating a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion, we finally got at least a fairly good chunk of the office crew out of the office and doing something together. I seem to remember that sort of thing being termed 'team building' in the States, but it seems to be a bit of a foreign concept around these parts.

With spouses, partners and rambunctious children in tow, we ordered up (and were graciously served!) absolutely incredible weather, powder snow and many a good laugh as poles were broken, bums were bruised, fearful mothers were dragged up to the black runs by their eight-year-olds and steaming mulled wine was happily downed.

Did I mention I work with a great team? Or that I have the most patient partner ever when it comes to his pro ski moves and my, uh, not so pro ones?? Or that it really doesn't get much more beautiful than Switzerland??

Don't believe me? Take a peek at some of the weekend's pictures HERE.

All play and no work

Commemorating a once-in-a-blue-moon occasion, we finally got at least a fairly good chunk of the office crew out of the office and doing something together.  I seem to remember that sort of thing being termed 'team building' in the States, but it seems to be a bit of a foreign concept around these parts.

With spouses, partners and rambunctious children in tow, we ordered up (and were graciously served!) absolutely incredible weather,  powder snow and many a good laugh as poles were broken, bums were bruised, fearful mothers were dragged up to the black runs by their eight-year-olds and steaming mulled wine was  happily downed.

Did I mention I work with a great team? Or that I have the most patient partner ever when it comes to his pro ski moves and my, uh, not so pro ones?? Or that it really doesn't get much more beautiful than Switzerland??

Don't believe me?  Take a peek at some of the weekend's pictures HERE.

Fresh mountain air and that pain of knowing you're alive

Yesterday was one of those days when you look all around you with your mouth gaping open at the crystal blue sky, warm sunshine, glittering white snow and towering, majestic mountains and, as you tumble helter skelter down the slopes, return to do it a little more gracefully, lounge at the mountaintop bar and sip your hot toddy, you think - life is beautiful.

TODAY is one of those days when you wake up in the morning and think you must have somehow inadvertently slept through being hit by a truck. You discover muscles you never knew you had - holding a door open without your whole arm shaking to high heaven might just be asking a lot. Then you think, yes, life is beautiful and this is the pain of knowing you're alive.

Next time, though, I think I might pop the painkiller before I even hit the hills.