My birthday took place last Saturday, and as the standard student what was I doing?
A) Eating lot's of cake
B) Partying - including house party or nightclub.
C) Watching Jeremy Kyle - I find this program mind-numbing.
D) Climbing a mountain
In a completely unpredictable bizarre twist, the answer is C, although I did eat lots of chocolate cake later on, and I've since been out with friends.
But on this particular weekend I turned into some sort of Sylvester Stallone Cliffhanger character, but slightly less extreme with more snow.
Hiking up a mountain in Chamonix, France, with a snowboard on my back and weird snowshoes on my feet - to help conquer the thick powder.
My brother text me saying he was jealous, I told him I felt like I should be raising money for charity.
In-fact this off-piste 'expedition', which I like to call it, was for an article I'm going to write for In the Snow magazine, and consisted of following experienced guides off the beaten-white-track. Perhaps I should have done more exercise before this press trip - my heavy breathing suggested I was having some sort of breakdown.
Too be fair I'm not that unfit but I have that unfortunate gasp when partaking in exercise,
and it became apparent many of the other journalists were very athletic.
Think desert marathon/ ironman. Then think of my experience - a short run down the park, and the occasional treadmill battle, although I can actually snowboard.
I trailed on: "I'm fine", I said, as my leg sunk hip-deep into the white stuff and I struggled to pull it out.
At one point, when the mountain became particularly flat, I crawled - very dramatic I know.
There was also the odd bit of drama, trekking at about 2000 metres, the guide got knocked over in a petite avalanche.
"You're going to remember this birthday" I was told. Yes, if I live to survive it, I muttered.
We did eventually ski down through the clouds, which was eventful because objects would appear immediately in your eyeline or on you. Trees suddenly became scary obstacles, making for an edge-of-your-seat experience right to the bottom.
After the rather successful three days I was, to say the least, a little tired and looked forward to a peaceful nap on the flight home.
Someone above had something else planned, my plane cancelled amidst a snow covered Europe and a partial baggage strike at Geneva Airport causing scenes like something out of those chaotic airline reality shows.
Followed was a minor scrum for bags, but I can thankfully say I now have mine - after a small tussle with a large Frenchman. Apparently the bag I was tugging was his, well it turns out we have the same bag.
After all the palaver, two days later, I did make it home. Sorry if this is an anti-climax.
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