Summary

Portrait of E. F. Benson E. F. Benson Winter Sports in Switzerland

We can all walk pretty perfectly—at least, there is no pleasing terror that we may be going to fall down—but none of us at our respective levels as artists in skating can skate pretty perfectly. We can only skate moderately well, considering how well we can skate. And the joy of it! The unreasoning, delirious joy of the beginner who for the first time feels his outside edge bite the ice, and, no less, the secret elation of the finest performers in the world, when they execute their back-counter close to the centre, at high speed, and without the semblance of flatness in the edge!
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of E. F. Benson E. F. Benson Winter Sports in Switzerland

They figure to themselves the depressing spectacle of snow as it usually appears in England, smooth and soft and wet, and too close a cousin to slush not to be tainted with a family resemblance; the image called up by ice is a grey surface in which are imbedded dead leaves, twigs and stones thrown on to it by boys for purposes not clearly understandable, while all they know of hoar-frost is an evanescent decoration that occurs at the edges of ditches and on lawns when tea is being made in the morning and disappears as soon as the poached eggs, leaving the grass soaked and dripping.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of E. F. Benson E. F. Benson Winter Sports in Switzerland

Indeed the skier who does not fall is either so cautious a performer that he cannot be called a skier in any sense of the word, or so supreme a master that he is evidently not human but some form of Alpine ghost. On the skating-rink he will see the same thing, for even the “plus-players,” so to speak, if they are really practising, execute the most amazing tumbles, while on the curling-rink, the gods and demigods make shots of the most putrescent nature.
Source: Gutenberg

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