Ski Adventure in Switzerland: A Tale of a Lost Ski Pole

Once, my friends and I went skiing in Switzerland. I looked paradoxically like a deep-sea diver. My clothing covered every inch, hiding every bit of skin. Suddenly, an avalanche of snow fell, and as we rode the lift together, I dropped my ski pole. Out of all of us, I was the most skilled skier, so it was up to me to retrieve it. With furrowed brows and determined gestures, I felt like General Suvarov conquering the Alpine peaks, forging a path to my pole. I began freeriding down, but I hadn't considered that the snow was fresh, and the slope was akin to a black run. At a turn, I buried myself deeply, one ski came off, flying away. I had no choice but to unstrap the other. I started walking downhill, sinking deeper with each step. After about 10 minutes of helplessness, I began to cry, then quietly whimper, realizing that even if my friends knew where I was, they couldn't reach me. My wetsuit-like outfit was my only savior. Then, I saw a trail. People were walking. As a child, I used to worry about people practicing Nordic walking, thinking they couldn't afford skis and were pretending with ski poles. Here, seeing two of them, I began waving and gesturing for help. They pulled me out. Later, my friends arrived, surprised that I had disappeared for so long. So, I managed to cry, remember all the ways to survive in the snow, and be glad it was the last day of skiing. My friend was right; sports add years to your life. I descended just once, but it feels like I'm 85 now 😂 It's funny to reminisce now. Anything's better than work! ;) Share your skiing adventures and funny stories to win prizes! I'll announce the winner in this post in a week. #BecherovkaForSnow