Good to know
5 types of skiers that everyone knows
The gondolas are back and so are the people you meet on the slopes. We asked ourselves who exactly these people are that we are already meeting on the mountain.
The crazy ex-ski instructor grandad has already waxed his skis in August and sharpened the edges so that he shaves them before the first day of skiing, just like he used to do when he was in the mountain troops. At seven o'clock in the morning, he is already at the car park and runs to the turnstile before the lift attendant. He has to be the first to pull his samurai sword-sharp hell-thing of downhill skis through the freshly made grooves. When the lift is finally in operation, he jumps into the gondola before everyone else. On the piste, he skis as hard as his artificial hips can take him, racing against the Franz Klammer era of 1976, against the narrow-looking boards at 130 km/h and against the slipped disc from the previous season. Anyone who gets in his way reaps verbal derailments of unprecedented brutality. At ten o'clock, the ex-ski instructor grandpa packs his things again, leaves his skis to dry in front of the house and tells his neighbour what he has missed.
Early in the morning, they meet at remote locations with shovels and large bags. What sounds like the beginning of a mafia film is just the winter routine of the freestyler community. No banister or snow-covered hut roof is safe from them. They build jumps with shovels to practise somersaults and spins and name them with strange combinations of numbers that nobody understands. The most important guy, however, is the one who doesn't jump at all - the cameraman. The oldest freestyler joke sums it up: How many people do you need to ride in the fun park? That's right - three. One who rides, one who films and one who articulates loud and clear: "Boah cool dude, 360 Nosegrab, Aaalter!"
The Sunday skier wants to go high - preferably on the black piste, where he has no business being. He buys the fastest boards in the sports shop, ignores the shop assistant's knowing smile and buys funny self-adhesive bear ears for his helmet. On the piste, he alternates between annoying the over-ambitious freestyler by driving him through the freshly built ramp and the crazy ex-ski instructor grandad by existing. At lunchtime, he dislocates his stomach with a double portion of cheese dumplings. The zeal of the over-ambitious Sunday skier and the realisation that skiing is pretty exhausting usually end at the bar, in the spa and sometimes, unfortunately, in the yellow helicopter.
Style is everything - the students you find on the slopes of Tyrol know that. Entire Burton collections can be spotted on the buses, each on two seats alone, as the extra-wide freeride skis don't just have to be placed next to the other skis, but on their own seat. Once on the mountain, we sunbathe and drink a repair beer. The previous evening still lingers. Slightly swaying, it's off to the first run. Because most people still haven't mastered freeriding after three semesters and riding on the piste is damned uncool, they prefer to clear the young forest away from the piste for practice. After the trip back to Innsbrooklyn, they head straight to the club for après-ski. Very important: leave your ski gear on, keyword sweat and pheromones.
Although difficult to separate from the piste hipster, the retro skier can be recognised by his neon-lit full-body ski suit, straight skis, wooden poles and a hip swing when pulling bows that leaves him surrounded by an aura of admiration and alien shame. His car is a vintage car and his Facebook is still made of real paper. He longs to return to a world that is not necessarily better, but different. Instead of a smartphone, he has a Walkman in his pocket and a hip flask in his rucksack instead of heating inserts in his ski boots. At the Ugly Skiing Day in the Axamer Lizum, he doesn't stand out, his style is somewhere between Hansi Hinterseer in the 1980s and Dieter Bohlen (still today). He despises the modern high-flyers and proudly sees himself as a small-minded oddball.
