‘I Learnt To Ski At 35 – In Glamorous St Moritz’

At 35, Luke Abrahams found himself asking the question so many adults secretly wonder: am I too old to learn to ski? With no experience, just a healthy dose of ‘YOLO-mojo’, he headed to St. Moritz to find out. One week, countless tumbles, and one unimpressed Swiss instructor later, he had discovered his snow legs.

You’re Never Too Old To Learn To Ski

I want to make one thing clear from the outset: I detest the cold. Growing up, I was not like my friends, and instead of hitting up the peaks and slopes of Verbier, Courchevel and Val d’Isère, I was sipping apple juice cocktails in sub-Saharan Africa. All I knew of this winter sport came from the pages of glossy magazines and throwback photos of 1980s Princess Diana.

But after turning 35 and facing my fears of the deep sea during a coral reef dive in Mozambique, it seemed only rational to keep my YOLO-mojo in motion – even if it induced a frosty existential crisis. The only question that remained was… where should I pop my skis on? The birthplace of winter tourism, St Moritz, seemed fitting.

A snowy St Moritz © Nicolas Quiniou

My first lesson began the morning after check-in at the Badrutt’s Palace. My instructor, a young Swiss woman called Madleina, was tasked with my winter conversion therapy on a small slope with misty views over the valley.

There I stood next to a line of toddlers all waiting to jump on the magic carpet to the top of the hill in front of me. I could easily be one of their uncles, and yet despite the colossal age gap, they knew far more about skiing than this lowly journalist battling to stand up straight on one leg in the snow. Thankfully, I was not the only adult here – I counted half a dozen ski tourists from all over the globe.

The first lesson was about the basics, and perhaps the hardest thing for me was the simplest measure for most: clicking my boots into my skis. After a few tumbles, I could stand still and take in the slopes. The snow was like glass; fresh and powdery, and under the sun, so bright it was near impossible to see. And then the perils of my ski boots began to set in: not only did my legs feel as though they were being crushed, but I also felt trapped in a perpetual arse squat that burned more than a reformer Pilates class.

Begging to move a bit more, I did a run on the bunny hill, focusing mostly on balance, turns and motions. The hardest thing to master, for me, was the dreaded ‘pizza’, aka learning to stop at speed. At first, it was like being present in someone else’s body. I could understand the concept of flanking my legs in the opposite direction to stop in haste, but doing it successfully? Another story. I fell flat on my side four times.

But there was solidarity in this failure to brake; most of the adults could take comfort in accepting that we were all beginners. The toddlers did not notice – they were more obsessed with taking a ride on the magic carpet, or, as in the case of a young Italian boy called Andrea, eating the snow.

Eventually I got the hang of it. ‘Oh, it’s all in the hips!’ I screamed to Madleina. Once I mastered the art of pushing my gluteus maximus out for the world to see, I finally conquered the art of stopping on command and with that, did my first little run down a slope that saw me crash and fall twice… before I finally rose victorious.

It had been a long time since I’d had a physical challenge of this scale, and even though I knew I would come out on the other side full of bruises and aching feet, I loved it. Snow sports had always been a no to me because I was afraid of the cold, but by the end of the lesson I was so drenched in sweat I was ready to tear all my layers off and head starkers down the mountain, Swiss style.

So confident, I planned a six kilometre toboggan ride down the slopes for the next day. Spoiler: I crashed four times, but made it to the bottom, smiling – and in one piece.

Luke’s trip produced 281.7kg of carbon (plane and train return journey). ecollectivecarbon.com

Where To Stay: Hotels In St Moritz

Kulm Hotel

Founded by legendary hotelier Johannes Badrutt in 1856, Kulm Hotel is the birthplace of many modern winter sports, from skibobbing to skeleton bobsledding. Beyond its colonnade imperial façade, its greatest charm is in its retro grand hotel mise-en-scène. Doubles from £800, kulm.com

Badrutt’s Palace 

This colourful fortress has been the go-to retreat of aristocrats since it opened in 1896. Be it its grand lobby, cavernous wine cellar or mountain/lake-view suites, it oozes the romance of the Grand European Tour. It offers exceptional pizza from Chesa Veglia, to boot. Doubles from £1,400, badruttspalace.com