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I'm nervous because [Graham Bell] doesn't appear to do slow skiing, whereas I don't seem able to do fast. The prognosis, confirmed last season by a grim-faced professional, was bad. Obsessed with technique, I had forgotten how to hurtle down the slopes. "It is imperative zat you go faster," said Patrick Zimmer, founder of Val d'Isere's Top Ski school. "Ozerwise [deep Gallic shrug], you will stay like zis forever..."
"I didn't have to wait long that time," says Bell, which I interpret as a compliment. "How fast did you go?" I ask, peering at the sat nav screen on his armband. He checks his top speed: 98.3kph. No wonder I'm struggling to keep up. Yet remarkably, that's only about half of Bell's top speed on skis - a mind-boggling 193kph.
As we watch the racers, Bell's attitude becomes more upbeat. Of the 68 men who start the race, only 36 complete it. Bellevarde is challenging at the best of times but particularly so when combined with poor visibility and intermittent snowfalls. As Michael Walchhofer, the surprise Austrian victor, said in an interview: "It was very steep and I couldn't see a thing. It's not my kind of slope." Fellow Austrian Bernhard Raich confirmed: "It was scary. I just tried not to hurt myself."
"I'm nervous because Graham Bell doesn't do slow skiing, and I seem unable to do fast" I've made six turns, Bell is out of sight"
As excited skiers file past me on their way to the slopes, I'm waiting nervously at the base of Val d'Isere's Olympique lift. The rendezvous is aptly named, since the person I'm about to meet is Graham Bell, five times an Olympian and eight times British ski champion.
Bell and I are going to ski together today for a few hours, followed tomorrow morning by a race-course inspection ahead of the World Cup Men's Super G, a challenging 1,405m stretch that the pro downhiller can devour in about two minutes.
I'm nervous because Bell doesn't appear to do slow skiing, whereas I don't seem able to do fast. The prognosis, confirmed last season by a grim-faced professional, was bad. Obsessed with technique, I had forgotten how to hurtle down the slopes. "It is imperative zat you go faster," said Patrick Zimmer, founder of Val d'Isere's Top Ski school. "Ozerwise [deep Gallic shrug], you will stay like zis forever..."
I certainly didn't intend to stay like this for another winter, let alone forever. But tackling the icy pitches of the French resort's treacherous La Face de Bellevarde was a bold way to change gear, especially when following in the tracks of a professional adrenaline junkie.
Bell doesn't look, or behave, his age. With lively blue eyes and a lithe physique, the 44-year-old does not seem in the least fatigued by a portfolio career that includes jobs as television presenter (notably for the BBC's Ski Sunday), journalist and Patron of the British Ski Association, to name a few. As we clatter on to the gondola, Bell tells me ominously that he's excited about "running" his 2.10m Super-G race skis - longer and stiffer than ordinary skis, with more sidecut for faster turns.
"I never want to give up thrill-seeking, it would be an admission of getting old," he says. He does admit, however, to being "ridiculously competitive" (Bell's skiing career was often compared to that of his elder brother Martin) before showing me some of his "toys": a new headcam, and sat nav which will monitor his speed on the piste as I trail behind him.
We step out of the gondola at Rocher de Bellevarde and Bell cranks up his boots, straps on his skis and heads for the training piste. He points out the chairlift we'll ride and pushes off. By the time I've made six turns, Bell hasn't made one and is out of sight. I reach the brow of a hill and see a small, black blur moving at pace towards the chairlift.
Once I've caught up with him, I try to excuse my snail-like pace by explaining that this is only my second day back on skis this winter. Bell humours me but looks blank: excuses are not going to wash. I need to speed up.
The second run follows the same pattern. Lining up for another attempt, I think to myself, "third time lucky", and hurl myself off in his wake. Incredibly, I keep him in sight for about 30 seconds. The pistes are virtually deserted in the late afternoon, the setting sun burns orange and I'm skiing really fast. I jump off a lip and whoop in terror and excitement. As I round a corner for the final approach to the chairlift, I see that Bell is still bombing down the piste, not waiting for me. I pull up to the lift next to him, huffing and puffing with exhilaration.
"I didn't have to wait long that time," says Bell, which I interpret as a compliment. "How fast did you go?" I ask, peering at the sat nav screen on his armband. He checks his top speed: 98.3kph. No wonder I'm struggling to keep up. Yet remarkably, that's only about half of Bell's top speed on skis - a mind-boggling 193kph.
We spend another hour zooming down slopes and, thanks to Bell's relentless energy, I begin to embrace the thrill of speed. My skis bite into the piste, my turns are less frequent and more efficient, giving me the confidence to go even faster.
After dreams of skiing, I rise early the next day with butterflies in my stomach. A blanket of cloud conceals the mountains and the wind whips up snow flurries. It's not ideal weather for a World Cup downhill race. The bitter cold and brooding skies don't make La Face look enticing as Bell and I ride the gondola.
We ski to the start of the course and join a huddle of ski racing's elite, including World Cup champions Bode Miller and Aksel Lund Svindal. The course inspection is not an opportunity for competitors to ski the course but to side-slip down it, examining the topography closely and calculating how to ski it best. The concentration is intense: a minor misjudgment at speeds in excess of 100kph could cost lives.
As we slide down the course, Bell points out the dangerous spots, such as the narrow Passage de l'Ancolie gully, and a particularly tricky "big dive-down right-hander". Racers and trainers earnestly calculate the precise angles their skis should be at to negotiate the slalom gates. Even Bell, once fined for going too fast during a course inspection, looks uncharacteristically sombre.
The inspection takes 30 minutes - the race itself lasts just two. At the finish line I notice two competitors slumped over their ski poles like rag dolls, their hands weaving in the air. Bell explains that they're reliving each twist and turn, using their hands to emulate the movements their feet will make. Watching these powerful men complete their graceful hand dance, I appreciate the combination of strength, finesse and intelligence required to succeed in downhill racing.
We have time for a couple of runs before Bell has the unenviable task of skiing the course first, before the race begins. Carrying one camera, with a further three strapped to him, he'll capture so-called "Point of View" footage for Ski Sunday. It starts to snow and the temperature drops to -13degC. Descending by gondola to watch the race, I look down on La Face: a blue racing line has been freshly sprayed to help the competitors navigate the course in bad light.
Back by the finish line, I shriek excitedly when Bell bursts into sight, but he angrily throws his ski pole to the ground, clearly disappointed. I discover that he missed a gate (for which racers are disqualified), broke his headcam on another gate and nearly collided with an official who strayed on to the course.
However, as we watch the racers, Bell's attitude becomes more upbeat. Of the 68 men who start the race, only 36 complete it. Bellevarde is challenging at the best of times but particularly so when combined with poor visibility and intermittent snowfalls. As Michael Walchhofer, the surprise Austrian victor, said in an interview: "It was very steep and I couldn't see a thing. It's not my kind of slope." Fellow Austrian Bernhard Raich confirmed: "It was scary. I just tried not to hurt myself."
Watching the competitors struggle down the course, I realise how they teeter on the edge of control, if not beyond the edge, throughout the race. For a control freak like me, it's terrifying yet inspiring to watch.
Briefly entering the world of a downhill racer has given me great respect for what these athletes achieve. While I cannot emulate their pace, and do not intend to ski in a permanent state of fear, I will adopt some of their derring-do when I next take to the slopes. Speed and I might not yet be close friends, but, thanks to Graham Bell, we're no longer strangers.
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