Day 95 - Skiing Through Rain and Running on Empty in Austria

Day 95 started in a way that is becoming familiar here in Scharnstein. A slow 7am wake up, except this time the house was quiet. The kids had slept over at the Austrian family’s place, so it was just Kia and I at the kitchen table with coffees, breakfast and spreadsheets open, trying to make sense of Italy. We have Sicily locked in from early March and then Lake Garda later, but everything in between still needs shape. Accommodation, transport, food, car hire, daily spend. It is one thing to dream it, another thing to budget it properly.

The kids rolled back in around 8 and the day quickly shifted gears. The Norwegian dad had just returned from a stint away for work and was keen to get up the mountain, even though it was drizzly and grey outside. There was something about that energy. Even in average conditions, it is hard to say no to the slopes.

The Norwegians headed off first, then the Austrians, and we were about fifteen minutes behind. When we pulled into the car park at Kasberg, it looked half asleep. Wet bitumen. Low cloud. Hardly any cars. By the time we clipped in, the Austrian family had already called it and headed home. Fair call. It was properly wet.

We found the Norwegians and tried a slope we had not been down before, with a different T bar that everyone warned us about. Faster. Steeper. Less forgiving. They were not wrong. The snow was incredibly soft from the rain. You could be cruising along, feeling in control, and then if you tipped your weight slightly too far onto an edge, the board would just dig in and throw you forward. It was that kind of day. Not dangerous, but unpredictable.

Still, there is something about being up there in rough weather. Fewer people. Quieter lifts. The sound of skis and boards slicing through heavy snow. Even in rain, the mountain has a pull.

The gondola to the second mountain was closed in the morning, so we stayed on the lower runs. Later, as we were heading down to grab something to eat, we noticed it had reopened. That little flicker of opportunity was enough. We jumped on and headed up.

At the top, it was windier and wetter than below. The kind of weather that gets into your gloves and works its way through every seam. The Norwegian girls had a yoga class to get back for, so they did one run and peeled off down the mountain to head home. We did one run to the chairlift, went back up, and then made the call to ski all the way down together from the top. First time all of us had done that full descent in one hit.

It was super fun. Long. Heavy. Concentration the whole way. But there was something satisfying about linking it together top to bottom as a family.

By the time we reached the car, we were soaked. Jackets heavy. Gloves dripping. Socks questionable. Emmett wanted one or two more runs, but realistically we were done. Sometimes the right call is to finish on a high rather than push it.

Back home we unloaded everything, spread jackets and pants everywhere to dry, and I cracked a beer. That moment of stillness after a wet mountain day hits differently. Tired legs. Warm house. Quiet hum of heaters.

Then my phone buzzed. The Norwegian dad asking if I was keen for a run.

I was and I wasn’t.

I wanted the conversation. The connection. The shared effort. But physically I did not feel great. My HRV has been bouncing around in the 30s and 40s lately and I can feel it some days. Flat. Slightly heavy. Today was one of those days.

I said yes anyway.

We headed out and covered about 7 kilometres through the quiet streets around Scharnstein. It turned into a run walk. I just did not have the legs. No ego in it. Just honest pacing. We talked about work, travel, kids, life back home. Sometimes the run is not about the splits. It is about the conversation.

When I got home, dinner was ready. The kids had decided on another sleepover at the Austrian family’s place. Around 6:30 I walked them down. That short stroll through the village is starting to feel normal now. Dark sky, crisp air, lights glowing in windows.

I ended up staying until around 9. The Norwegian dad came down as well and we all sat around the table chatting. Stories from Norway, Austria, Australia. Snow seasons. Work rhythms. Parenting. The kind of conversations that only really happen when you are living slowly enough to allow them.

We helped get the kids settled and then I walked home alone through the quiet streets.

Day 95.

Wet slopes. A faster T bar. Our first full top to bottom run together. A 7 kilometre effort that was more about showing up than smashing it. And the growing sense that maybe tomorrow needs to be a rest day.

The forecast looks better, but I think we might call it. Let the gear fully dry. Let the legs recover. Figure out what is next.

Because that is what this year seems to be teaching us more than anything else. Go hard when it makes sense. Rest when it doesn’t. And say yes to the run, even when you are not quite sure you have it in you.