Clench those buttocks! Come on, feel the burn! Push your leg back, pull down with that hand! No pain, no gain!
When does a skiing trip turn into a Jane Fonda workout? When Mother Nature stops helping you with gravity and starts making you do all the work.
A cross-country skiing holiday had seemed like a good idea from the comfort of my sofa in England, but now, as I glided gingerly along the Urserntal Valley in southern Switzerland on a gloriously sunny February day, the reality was different. The back of my legs felt as if steel rods had been inserted in them and my arms ached from pushing myself along with the poles. The bad news? I'd left my base in the village of Andermatt only 10 minutes ago and still had 10 miles to go. The good news? After this, I could sit in the sun with a large beer and a big bar of Swiss chocolate and feel absolutely no guilt.
In the 'cross-country' versus 'downhill' debate, the former has major plus points. For a start it's easy to learn and great exercise. On a bright spring day, swishing through a snowy Alpine landscape certainly beats pounding the treadmill at the gym. Second, cross-country skis are as light as a feather so you don't have to be Rambo to carry them from your hotel, and the boots are more like normal shoes, not the great clodhoppers you have to wear to tackle even the gentlest of nursery slopes.
Finally, unlike downhill, you are not going to get smacked from behind by some spotty youth on a snowboard doing 70mph, who has not noticed you because he is too busy listening to Limp Bizkit on his Walkman.
There are two styles of cross-country skiing. 'Skating', which is like rollerblading where you have to push back and out with your foot, lifting the ski off the ground, and 'classic'. I chose the latter, which seemed better suited for a novice (i.e. less energetic) and is the same as the 'NordicTrack' machine at the gym, a kind of locomotive left-right-left-right shuffle, where you push yourself along with your poles. You clip your boot in at the front, leaving the heel to lift at the back, put yourself in the machine-made grooves through the snow, and away you go.
Pat Spring Smythe, an Englishwoman who has been coming to Andermatt since the Fifties, gave me a short lesson - not too much to learn really if you can already do downhill. Then off I went along the 14km track that skirts the valley, happy in my own little world with no one else around to spoil the peace. The sun glinted off the snow that clung to the high mountains on either side. A narrow river gurgled away to my left and every so often a small red train of the Furka Oberalp Railway Company tooted as it passed, looking like an extra from Thomas the Tank Engine . The only buildings were cowsheds, which, judging by the smells wafting from within, were full.
I felt completely at peace, and despite the slightly dull ache in my arms and legs, was totally relaxed, the only sound being the crunch of skis through snow.
The mountain scenery was fantastic. The sun was shining, and best of all, I could hum a few cheesy classics with no one else around to hear. ('High on a hill was a lonely goatherd, lay-ee odl lay-ee odl lay hee ho' was a particular favourite, although S Club 7 and the Eighties-tastic Air Supply were also on the bill.)
The only minor blip came when the flat track dipped downhill. Cross-country skis are not designed for downhill. That's what I told myself as I picked up speed before leaning back too much and landing smack on my bottom, a few choice Anglo-Saxon expressions piercing the frosty air. I lay in the snow looking up to the bluest blue sky I'd seen in ages. Realising I wasn't hurt, I decided I was in no rush to get up. It seemed like a very good excuse to just stop time and put the world on hold for a moment. That morning in my hotel room, CNN had informed that me more bombs were being dropped on Afghanistan, a cyclone was battering Australia and unemployment was up in Germany.
Meanwhile, a thirtysomething bloke from Yorkshire was lying on his back in a snow-covered Swiss field, and was, at that moment, wondering if he was resting his head on a frozen cowpat.
Andermatt has also decided in some ways to stop and put the world on hold. If you want riotous nightlife into the wee small hours like St Anton or Méribel, you're in the wrong resort. Small, cosy restaurants and tea-bars along the chocolate-boxy main street, Gotthardstrasse, are the norm here. The Piccadilly Pub or the Gotthard Bar are as lively as it gets in the evening, which isn't that lively. What Andermatt does have, though, is an intimacy and a proud, local character long ago sacrificed in many other resorts. There are no mega hotels, just small 30- and 40-bed places like the charming Drei Könige und Post, which has been around in one form or another since 1234. Goethe stayed there in 1775. I'd recommend it for the food alone.
A three-hour train ride south of Zurich, the village was once a magnet for hun dreds of Britons. In 1934 Donald Greenland set up the White Hare Ski Club to teach the English how to ski, before the Swiss Ski School was even formed. Every season Britons practically took over the village until the start of the Eighties, when they were lured to the wide-open pistes of the new French super-resorts. Holiday companies like Lunns and Inghams decided it wasn't practical to deal with such small hotels. Now those same intimate family-run places are one of the draws for the Swiss, Germans and Dutch who make up most of the visitors.
As well as the cross-country tracks, there are two downhill areas suited mostly to intermediate and advanced skiers: Nätschen/ Gütsch, which is reached by railway or chair-lift from the village, and the 3,000-metre Gemsstock, accessed by cable-car, from where there are stunning mountain views and some challenging glacier runs.
Fifteen minutes by train along the valley, there are touring opportunities from the village of Realp, with overnight mountain huts provided for the truly gung-ho who want to go 'off off-piste' with a knowledgeable local guide. Realp was also my goal, the end of the cross-country track. Three hours, and one bruised backside after leaving Andermatt I glided triumphantly into the tiny hamlet, to be greeted by two bored looking kids throwing bangers. I sat on the terrace of the Hotel des Alpes, positioned my chair facing into the sun, and clasped a large beer.
Raise that elbow, two, three, four! OK, open that mouth! Now come on, gulp and swallow! Hey, you're looking good!
Factfile
Getting there: Swissair (0845 601 0956) flies from Heathrow to Zurich from £130 return. Sister-airline Crossair also flies from Birmingham, Manchester and London City to Switzerland. The train from Zurich to Andermatt costs from £32 return. Book tickets through Switzerland Travel Centre (00800 1002 0030). Timetable information: www.rail.ch
Rates at the Hotel Drei Könige und Post (00 41 41 887 00 01) start from £31 per person per night, based on two sharing, and including breakfast.
Cross-country ski rental (including poles and boots) starts from £11.75 per day at any of the rental shops in the village. A one-day pass to use the cross country tracks is £2.50. For downhill skiing a six-day, whole-valley pass costs £88. Andermatt's website is www.andermatt.ch.
